UNIVERSITY  OF 

ILLINOIS  L,;jRARY 

AT  URBANA-ChAMPAIGN 

BOOKSTACKS 


The  Montespan 


The    Montespan 

[DRAMA  IN  THREE  ACTS] 

by 
ROMAIN    ROLLAND 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

h 

HELENA  VAN  BRUGH  DE  KAY 


NEW  YORK   B.  W.  HUEBSCH,  INC.   MCMXXIII 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
HELENA  DE  KAY 

Copyright,  1923,  by 
B.W.  HUEBSCH,  INC. 


For  permission  to  read  this  play  in 

public,   or    to    produce    it    in   any 

manner,  apply  to  Helena  de  Kay, 

care  of  the  publisher. 


PRINTED   IH   U.   8.   A. 


'   •    *« 


TRANSLATOR'S  NOTE 

I  want  to  thank  Miss  Lucile  Watson  for  her 
constructive  criticism  of  this  translation,  and 
the  late  Mr.  Andre  Tridon  and  my  sister,  Miss 
Sylvia  de  Kay,  for  helpful  suggestions. 


INTRODUCTION  A  "LA  MONTESPAN" 
POUR  LES  LECTEURS  AMERICAINS. 

Je  viens  de  relire  cette  ceuvre,  ecrite  il  y  a  plus 
de  vingt  annees.  J'y  ai  retrouve  1'atmosphere 
lourde  et  charnelle  de  la  cour  de  Louis  XIV,  telle 
que  je  la  respirais  alors  dans  les  -Memoires  se- 
crets du  temps  et  les  archives  du  fameux  proces: 
'TAffaire  des  Poisons,"  ou  se  revelerent  les  sau- 
vages  passions  de  cette  societe  compassee.  Car,  a 
1'exception  des  libertes  que  j'ai  prises  avec  1'etat- 
civil  de  mes  personnages  et  dont  je  fais  1'aveu 
dans  mon  "Avertissemenf,"  tout  dans  cette  piece 
est  exact:  la  couleur  morale,  les  sentiments,  la 
langue  souvent  presque  textuellement  empruntee 
aux  recits  des  "Conquetes  du  grand  Alcandre." 

Et  ceci  m'a  amene  a  des  reflexions,  dont  je 
veux  f aire  part  a  mes  lecteurs  americains : 

II  est  d'usage  courant  dans  le  language  des 
civilises  de  distinguer,  au  milieu  du  fleuve  aux 
mille  bras  de  1'histoire  humaine,  quelques  ilots 
qui  emergent,  couronnes  de  gloire  et  de  lumiere, 

1  "Le  grand  Alcandre"  est  le  nom  sous  lequel  etait  designe 
Louis  XIV  dans  les  memoires  secrets  du  temps. 

vii 


viii  Introduction 

et  qui  passent  pour  les  cimes  de  la  civilisation. 
On  les  nomme  les  grands  Siecles ;  et  Ton  dit :  "Le 
siecle  d'Auguste,  le  siecle  de  Leon  X,  le  siecle  de 
Louis  XIV," — (bien  qu'en  realite,  le  regne  de  ces 
souverains  n'occupe  qu'une  partie  des  periodes  sur 
Jesquelles  s'etend  leur  rayonnement). — Ce  sont 
les  ages  dits  "classiques."  II  semble  qu'a  ces 
moments,  1'humanite  ait  atteint  sa  supreme  har- 
monic, 1'equilibre  parfait  des  forces  de  1'esprit  et 
du  cceur,  la  maitrise  de  la  raison  et  la  perfection 
du  gout. 

Mais  1'homme  est  ne  courtisan  du  succes;  il 
prete  a  la  victoire  toutes  les  vertus.  Les  grands 
triomphateurs — rois,  papes,  ou  empereurs, — ont 
beau  depuis  longtemps  etre  rentres  dans  la  pous- 
siere  la  posterite  continue  de  les  aduler.  Et, 
comme  de  leur  vivant,  la  consigne  est  observee 
de  ne  voir  de  ces  ages  que  1'ordre  et  la  majeste 
du  splendide  decor. 

Mais  le  decor  a  des  trous,  regardons  au  travers ! 
Que  sont-ils,  au  vrai,  ces  ages'? — Des  siecles  de 
proie,  une  meute  d' instincts  fauves,  tou jours  pres 
d'echapper  au  poing  du  grand-veneur. 

Auguste  edifie  son  "siecle"  sur  un  sol  rouge  du 
sang  des  infames  Proscriptions;  c'est  pour  les 
nouveaux-riches  engraisses  de  Tor  de  leur  victimes, 


Introduction  ix 

des  depouilles  de  la  Rome  de  Brutus  et  de  Ci- 
ceron,  que  Virgile  chante  ses  Eglogues,  qu' Hor- 
ace entonne  son  "Carmen  Seculars" ;  et  nous  sav- 
ons  les  scandales  que  recouvre  et  qu'etouffe,  dans 
la  propre  famille  du  maitre,  la  pourpre  imperiale. 

L'interlude  somptueux  du  pape  epicurien  aux 
belles  et  grasses  mains,  Leon  le  dilettante,  se  joue 
entre  les  orgies  sanglantes  des  Borgia,  les  coups 
d'epee  de  Jules  II  et  le  sac  de  Rome  atrocement 
devastee. 

Le  regne  de  Louis  XIV,  a  grand  peine  echappe 
au  chaos  de  la  Fronde,  qui  renouvela  les  miseres 
et  les  debordements  de  la  Ligue — (le  mot  d'ordre 
de  1'histoire  officielle  fut  de  n'en  laisser  voir  que 
le  cote  romanesque) — fut  pendant  cinquinte  ans 
•un  "refoulement"  constant  (au  sens  Freudian  du 
mot)  d'une  sauvagerie  latente,  a  deux  doigts 
d'exploser.  Sous  une  extreme  contrainte,  une 
extreme  brutalite.  A  tout  moment,  celle-ci  se 
trahit  par  soudaines  eruptions.  La  main  du  Roi- 
Soleil  en  vain  renfonce  les  monstres.  Us  sont  la. 
L'Affaire  des  Poisons,  qui  a  inspire  ce  drame, 
montra  a  1'orgueilleux  monarque  qu'a  1'heure  tri- 
omphale  ou  ses  armees  lui  conqueraient  en  pleine 
paix  1'Europe,  il  n'etait  meme  pas  maitre  de  ce 
qui  1'entourait. 


Introduction 


Non,  ils  ne  furent  jamais  la  fleur  de  la  civili- 
sation, les  siecles  dits  "classiques"!  Cette  fleur, 
bien  plutot,  exhala  sa  douceur  de  vivre  dans  les 
ages  plus  fins,  plus  amollis,  qui  suivirent, — tel  le 
XVIIIe  siecle  franc.ais.  .  .  .  Et  apres,  vient  le 
coup  de  faux  de  la  Revolution:  la  fleur  tombe. 
.  .  .  Leur  grandeur  est  ailleurs:  dans  les  forces 
maitrisees,  dans  un  exces  de  passions  que  tient  en 
respect  un  exces  de  raison,  dans  le  combat  tra- 
gique  qui  se  livre  en  secret  entre  la  violence  des 
instincts  et  celle  de  la  volonte. 

C'est  pourquoi  nous  voyons  une  epoque  comme 
la  notre,  qui  sent  le  sol  trembler  et  1'ecorce  de 
I'ame  humaine,  convulsee,  qui  se  fend  sous  la 
poussee  des  guerres  et  des  revolutions,  tourner  son 
regard  anxieux  vers  1'ideal  "classique" — 1'age 
de  1'ordre  a  tout  prix,  1'age  des  maitres  imperieux. 

Eternels  flux  et  reflux  de  1'histoire  humaine! 
Contemplons-les  d'un  regard  apaise.  Tout  n'a 
qu'un  temps.  Apres  les  ages  de  liberte,  les 
ages  d'autorite.  Apres  les  ages  d'autorite,  les 
ages  de  liberte.  J'admire  celle-la;  mais  a  la 
Libert?e  seule,  malgre  ses  risques,  je  reserve  mon 
amour. 

ROMAIN    ROLLAND. 

juillet  1923. 


INTRODUCTION 

TO  "THE  MONTESPAN"  FOR 

AMERICAN  READERS 

I  have  just  reread  this  work,  written  more  than 
twenty  years  ago. 

Once  again  I  inhale  the  thick  carnal  atmos- 
phere of  the  court  of  Louis  XIV,  just  as  I  then 
breathed  it  in  the  secret  memoirs  of  the  times  and 
the  archives  of  the  famous  case,  "The  Poison 
Affair,"  where  the  savage  passions  of  this  af- 
fectedly formal  society  are  revealed.  For,  ex- 
cept for  the  liberties  I  have  taken  with  the  social 
status  of  my  characters  and  to  which  I  refer  in  the 
"Notice,"  [at  the  end  of  this  volume]  everything 
in  this  play  is  veracious :  the  moral  color,  the  emo- 
tions, the  language  itself  often  borrowed  ver- 
batim from  accounts  of  "Conquests  of  the  Great 
Alcandre."  x 

And  this  has  led  me  to  make  some  reflections 
which  I  should  like  to  share  with  my  American 
readers. 

It  is  customary  among  civilized  people  to  dis- 
tinguish in  the  thousand-branched  river  of  human 
history  a  few  islets  which  emerge,  crowned 

1  Name  by  which  Louis  XIV  was  designated  in  the  secret 
memoirs  of  the  times. 

xi 


xii  Introduction 

with  light  and  glory,  and  which  pass  for  the 
heights  of  civilization.  We  call  them  the  great 
eras;  and  we  say  the  era  of  Augustus,  the  era  of 
Leo  X,  the  era  of  Louis  XIV  (although  in  re- 
ality the  reigns  of  these  sovereigns  occupy  but  a 
part  of  the  periods  over  which  their  radiation  ex- 
tends). They  are  the  ages  called  "classic."  It 
would  seem  that  at  those  times  humanity  had  at- 
tained its  supreme  harmony,  perfect  balance  of 
the  forces  of  head  and  heart,  mastery  of  reason, 
perfection  in  taste. 

But  man  is  a  born  courtier  of  success;  he  lends 
every  virtue  to  victory.  The  great  conquerors — 
kings,  popes  or  emperors — may  well  have  long 
ago  been  gathered  into  dust,  posterity  continues 
to  adulate  them.  And,  as  in  their  life-time,  the 
command  is  obeyed  to  discern  in  these  epochs  only 
the  system  and  majesty  of  their  splendid  pageant. 

But  there  are  holes  in  this  pageantry.  Let  us 
look  through  them.  What  are  they  in  truth, 
these  times'?  Epochs  of  prey,  a  pack  of  hounds 
with  blind  instincts,  always  straining  to  escape 
from  the  huntsman's  leash. 

Augustus  builds  his  "age"  upon  ground  red 
with  the  blood  of  the  infamous  Proscriptions;  it 
is  for  the  nouveaux-riches,  glutted  with  the  gold 


Introduction  xm 

of  their  victims,  spoils  of  the  Rome  of  Brutus  and 
Cicero,  that  Virgil  sings  his  Eclogues,  that  Horace 
intones  his  "Carmen  Seculare";  and  we  know  the 
scandals  in  the  master's  own  family  which  only 
imperial  purple  stifles  and  conceals. 

The  sumptuous  interlude  of  the  epicurean  pope, 
with  fat,  beautiful  hands,  Leo  the  dilettante,  is 
played  between  bloody  orgies  of  the  Borgias, 
sword  thrusts  of  Julius  II  and  the  atrociously 
devastating  sack  of  Rome. 

The  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  narrowly  escaping 
the  chaos  of  the  Fronde,  which  in  turn  renewed 
the  miseries  and  uprisings  of  the  League  (the 
pass-word  of  official  history  was  to  allow  only 
the  romantic  side  to  be  seen),  constituted  during 
fifty  years  a  constant  "repression"  (in  the  Freud- 
ian sense)  of  a  latent  savagery  on  the  point  of  ex- 
ploding. Beneath  an  extreme  restraint,  extreme 
brutality,  the  latter  betraying  itself  frequently 
through  sudden  erruptions.  In  vain  does  the 
hand  of  "le  Roi-Soleil"  drive  back  the  monsters. 
They  remain.  The  "Poison  Affair,"  which  has 
inspired  this  drama,  showed  the  proud  monarch 
that  at  the  hour  triumphant  when  his  armies  were 
conquering  a  peaceful  Europe  he  could  not  even 
master  his  own  surroundings. 


xiv  Introduction 

No,  they  were  never  the  flower  of  civilizatio 
the  so-called  "classic  times" !  This  flower  rathe 
exhaled  its  sweetness  in  the  finer,  mellower  ge] 
erations  that  followed,  such  as  the  French  XVI 
century.  .  .  .  And  then  comes  the  scythe  thru 
of  the  Revolution:  the  flower  falls.  .  .  .  The 
greatness  lies  elsewhere :  in  the  mastery  of  force 
in  an  excess  of  passions  which  an  excess  of  reasc 
holds  in  leash,  in  the  tragic  combat  secretly  ta 
ing  place  between  the  violence  of  the  instinc 
and  that  of  the  will. 

This  is  why  we  see  an  epoch  like  our  own- 
which  feels  the  ground  tremble  beneath  it  an 
the  shell  of  the  human  soul,  convulsed,  crack  ui 
der  the  pressure  of  wars  and  revolutions, — tui 
its  anxious  eyes  toward  the  "classic"  ideal,  tl 
time  of  order  at  any  price,  the  time  of  imperioi 
masters. 

Eternal  flux  and  reflux  of  human  history.  L 
us  contemplate  it  peacefully.  Everything  has  i 
day.  After  eras  of  liberty  those  of  authorit 
After  eras  of  authority  those  of  liberty.  I  a( 
mire  the  former,  but  to  Liberty  alone  in  spite  < 
her  risks  I  give  my  love 

ROMAIN    ROLLAND. 

July  1923. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

FRANCES    ATHENA!'S,    Marquise    de    Montespan    (aged 

39  or  40}- 

MARIE-AUBE  DE  BLOIS,  her  daughter  (aged  16} . 
ANGELIQUE  DE  FONTANGES  {aged  /<?). 
THE  QUEEN  {aged  45}. 

LA  VOISIN,  old  female  attendant  on  Madame  de  Montes- 
pan. 

THE  KING,  Louis  XIV.  (aged  50). 
Louvois    (aged  40). 

GABRIEL  NICOLAS  DE  LA  REYNIE,  Lieutenant-General  of 
Police  (aged  55). 

Three  Courtiers. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Court. 

PLACE 
Versailles. 

TIME 
About  1680. 


THE  MONTESPAN 

ACT  I 
SCENE  I 

In  the  palace  at  Versailles.  MADAME  DE 
MONTESPAN'S  apartment.  MADAME  DE  MON- 
TESPAN is  lying  in  a  great  bed  of  state  in  the  mid' 
die  of  the  room.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  MARIE- 
AUBE,  her  daughter,  and  MADEMOISELLE  DE 
FONTANGES  hold  a  newly-born  infant  enveloped 
in  swaddling  clothes  and  laces.  Near  the  head 
of  the  bed  is  seated  LA  VOISIN,  a  little  to  one  side, 
upon  the  step  of  the  platform  which  supports  the 
bed.  The  room  is  bordered  with  a  row  of  court- 
iers who  file  past,  kissing  the  hand  of  the  MAR- 
QUISE. The  windows  are  open.  One  hears  out- 
side the  acclamations  of  the  crowd  and  the  violins 
and  oboes  playing  dance  airs. 
Before  the  Curtain  rises,  there  is  a  murmur  of 
voices  both  on  and  off  the  stage.  When  the  Cur- 
tain is  well  up,  MADAME  speaks: 

7 


8  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Show  the  child  to  the  people! 

[MARIE-AUBE,  who  holds  the  child,  starts 
to  give  it  to  MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES.] 

You,  my  daughter. 

MARIE-AUBE 
[Hesitatingly']  Madam  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  wish  it. 

[MARIE-AUBE  advances  toward  the  balcony 
with  the  child  in  her  arms.  ANGELIO,UE  DE 
FONTANGES  accompanies  her.] 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Look,  Marie-Aube.  What  a  wonderful  spectacle ! 
This  great  people  acclaiming  your  brother,  this 
child!  How  blest  you  are!  ...  What's  the 
matter? 

MARIE-AUBE 

[About  to  lean  out  of  the  window,  throws 

herself  backward} 

These  cries  are  horrible  to  me.  Fontanges,  take 
the  child.  Don't  let  my  mother  know. 


The    Montespan 


[MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES  takes  the 
child  from  her  arms  and  shows  it  to  the 
crowd,  whose  cries  redouble.] 

LA  VOISIN 

[Drawing  near  the  MARQUISE'S  pillow] 
How  loud  they  are  shouting,  Madam! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Not  loud  enough !  When  the  Dauphin  was  born 
they  made  a  fire  in  the  castle-court  with  the  planks 
of  the  lower  rooms  and  the  sedan  chairs.  They 
must  cry  louder  still !  Voisin,  open  my  purse. — 
Take  some  money.  Throw  it  to  them ! 

[LA  VOISIN  obeys,  and  throws  the  money  out 
of  the  balcony.  The  people  shout  for  joy.] 

FIRST  COURTIER 

[In  a  low  voice]  All  this  noise  because  the 
King's  mare  has  borne  another  bastard. 

SECOND  COURTIER 
With  what  arrogance  the  strumpet  triumphs! 

THIRD  COURTIER 

Sixteen  years  have  not  shaken  her  empire  over 
Louis  the  Fourteenth. 


10  The    Montespan 

SECOND  COURTIER 
Sixteen  years'?     Is  it  as  long  as  that? 

THIRD  COURTIER 

The  dates  are  written  there ;  in  the  first  child  and 

the  last. 

[He  points  to  MARIE-AUBE  and  the  infant, 
who  is  carried  out  of  the  room.  MARIE- 
AUBE  and  MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES 
leave  with  it.} 

FIRST  COURTIER 

She  has  already  been  very  near  falling  from 
power.  But  when  one  imagines  she's  about  to 
lose  her  stirrups,  a  peculiar  luck  brings  back  her 
fortune  and  puts  her  in  the  saddle  again. 

SECOND  COURTIER 

She  must  have  some  magical  powers  with  which 
ordinary  means  are  unable  to  cope.  All  this  isn't 
natural. 

FIRST  COURTIER 

No  other  magic  but  her  lust!  Courtesans'  rec- 
ipes, those  are  her  sorceries. 


The    Montespan  11 

SECOND  COURTIER 

No,  no,  there  is  some  mystery.  If  one  could  ques- 
tion some  of  the  witches  skulking  around  her, 
one  would  learn  about  lots  of  things. 

FIRST  COURTIER 

Pooh!  The  formula  of  some  poisons  and  love- 
potions  ! 

SECOND  COURTIER 

Laugh  away,  Mr.  Know-it-all.  Don't  you  believe 
in  the  Devil? 

FIRST  COURTIER 

Every  woman  is  the  Devil.  Come,  we  must  do 
her  reverence. 

[They  go  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  MARQUISE. 
Most  of  the  courtiers  leave,  a  few  at  a  time.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Who  receives  their  homage  with  haughty 
indifference,  her  eyes  care-worn  and  hard} 
Where  is  the  Queen  $  Why  hasn't  she  come  yet"? 
[There  is  a  movement  among  the  courtiers 
near  the  entrance  door.} 


12  The    Montespan 

A  GENTLEMAN 

Madam,  Her  Majesty  is  here. 

[SCENE  II:  The  QUEEN  enteis.  She  is  a 
small,  fat  woman,  with  hurried  and  un- 
certain movements.} 

THE  QUEEN 

Bless  me,  Madam,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  out 
of  danger !  They  told  me  yesterday  evening  that 
you  were  dying.  Last  night  I  conjured  up  all 
sorts  of  spectres!  I  dreamed  of  black  curtains, 
of  wax  candles,  of  coffins. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  thank  Your  Majesty  for  your  solicitude.  I 
hope  this  nonsense  did  not  trouble  your  sleep. 

THE  QUEEN 

Alas!  Don't  worry.  All  the  cares  in  the  world 
have  never  prevented  me  from  sleeping.  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it !  There  are  nights  when 
I  am  sorrowful  enough  to  croak;  my  pillow  is 
saturated  with  tears;  and  yet  I  have  to  sleep. — 
Come  now,  let  me  look  at  your  face.  Wow! 
How  awful  it  looks !  You  are  pale  as  death,  my 
love.  Give  me  your  hand.  .  .  .  Why  you're 


The    Montespan  13 

feverish.  How  do  you  feel?  But  you  are  not 
at  all  well !  But  really  you  are  very  ill  indeed ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Your  Majesty  is  taking  too  much  interest  in  my 
health.  I  am  very  much  better. 

THE  QUEEN 

No,  no,  you  are  mistaken.  I  will  say  a  novena 
for  you  to  Saint  Margaret. — My  God,  don't  die, 
my  dear  girl,  I  beg  of  you !  If  you  left  us,  how 
I  should  miss  you ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Ironically]  I  didn't  realize  that  I  was  so  neces- 
sary to  your  service. 

THE  QUEEN 

Yes  indeed! — I  am  a  creature  of  habit.  I  need 
to  have  the  same  people  always  about  me.  New 
faces  trouble  me.  I  believe  I  would  rather  tol- 
erate some  one  I  don't  like  than  make  a  change 
of  faces. 

[After  a  little  silence] 

All  the  more,  isn't  it  so,  when  one  is  attached  to 
people,  as  I  am  to  you? — Whew !  How  they  bel- 
low !  Doesn't  all  that  exhaust  you? 


14  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

No,  Madam.  There  is  no  sweeter  music  to  high- 
born souls  than  the  chants  of  glory. 

THE  QUEEN 

They  never  made  so  much  noise  when  I  gave  birth 
to  the  Dauphin.  It's  true  we  didn't  need  it. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Why? 

THE  QUEEN 

Monseigneur  must  rule  these  people  some  day,  so 
it  matters  little  whether  he  is  loved  by  them  or 
not. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Your  Majesty  knows  better  than  any  one,  how- 
ever, that  one  reigns  by  love  as  much  as  by  birth. 

THE  QUEEN 

Yes,  in  this  country,  the  first  pretty  face  that 
entices,  a  coquette,  a  dressed  up  puss,  is  preferred 
to  true  virtue.  When  I  first  came  to  France  from 
Austria,  this  mental  aberration  used  to  sadden  me, 
I  confess.  Since — I  am  resigned  to  it:  one  has 
to  adapt  oneself  to  the  customs  of  a  country, 
however  unreasonable  they  may  be. 


The    Montespan  15 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

No  doubt :  but  doesn't  true  virtue  find  its  recom- 
pense in  itself? 

THE  QUEEN 

Yes:  it's  a  great  consolation;  but  sometimes  one 
would  rather  give  up  one's  virtue  if  one  could 
change  the  shape  of  one's  nose. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Well!     What's  that  you  say? 

THE  QUEEN 

Hush,  hush,  what  have  I  said?  I've  exag- 
gerated !  If  Father  Annat  heard  me,  I  would  be 
well  scolded!  Don't  repeat  it  to  him,  my  love. 
Should  women  of  our  age  still  care  about  pleas- 
ing?— We  can  well  be  virtuous,  reasonable,  and 
know  as  a  certainty  that  there  is  nothing  prefer- 
able to  a  chaste  life — still  the  demon  skulks  at 
our  ear  and  whispers  his  disgusting  temptations. 
Just  now  particularly,  they  say  he  has  spread  his 
net  around  us,  he  pursues  us  incessantly.  What 
a  frightful  thing!  Ah,  my  love,  we  must  defend 
ourselves  well ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What  do  you  mean? 


16  The    Montespan 

THE  QUEEN 

Don't  you  know  what's  happening?  Hasn't  the 
King  said  anything  to  you  about  it?  Wait,  I 
must  come  nearer.  It  seems  they  don't  want 
any  one  to  know  it.  The  police  are  on  the  trail ! 
We  mustn't  obstruct  them. 

[The  courtiers  have  all  left.  The  QUEEN 
is  alone  with  MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN,  and 
LA  VOISIN,  hidden  behind  the  bed.] 
My  love,  the  Devil  is  at  court.  We  are  sur- 
rounded by  sorcerers  and  magicians.  They  spy 
upon  us,  then  try  to  snap  up  our  souls.  Nothing 
is  able  to  cope  with  this  brood;  they  are  chased 
out  the  door  and  return  by  the  window ;  one  burns 
them  up,  they  are  reborn.  Monsieur  de  la  Rey- 
nie  has  found  an  immense  association  of  these 
demons,  in  which  a  mass  of  great  lords  have  al- 
lowed themselves  to  be  enmeshed.  .  .  .  Are  you 
cold? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Shudders  imperceptibly]     No,  Madam,  go  on. 

THE  QUEEN 

The  court  is  infected.  Some  have  sold  their  souls 
to  the  Devil  for  money,  others  for  honors,  others, 
— and  this  is  the  most  ignoble  of  all, — others  for 


The    Montespan  17 

love! — Monsieur  the  Marshall  of  Luxembourg, 
such  a  good  man!  .  .  .  He  was  taken  to  the 
Bastille  just  now,  the  constables  are  with  him. 
It  seems  that  he  asked  the  Devil  to  carry  off  his 
wife!  What  an  abomination! — Good  Heavens! 
when  I  think  that  I  allowed  him  to  caress  my 
little  dog,  Rocroy,  yesterday! — And  Madame  de 
Soissons!  As  for  her,  I  am  delighted.  An 
abandoned  creature  who  eats  meat  on  Friday  and 
sleeps  with  her  lackeys !  She  has  poisoned  half  a 
dozen  of  her  lovers.  She  has  just  fled  from  Paris 
in  her  coach.  But  they've  taken  her  sister, 
Madame  de  Bouillon !  It  was  she  who  poisoned 
her  husband  in  order  to  marry  Monsieur  de 
Vendome.  And  Madame  de  Polignac,  and  Ma- 
dame de  Gramont,  and  Madame  d'Angouleme! 
Ah !  The  jades !  I  hope  they'll  not  coddle  them 
this  time,  but  will  make  an  example  of  them  so 
that  good  women  will  have  their  revenge.  Isn't 
it  terrible?  Terror  is  everywhere.  One  doesn't 
dare  touch  anything:  everything  has  the  taste  of 
poison.  This  morning  while  crossing  the  Galerie 
des  Batailles,  suddenly  an  odor  of  sulphur  seized 
me  by  the  throat;  I  had  only  the  time  to  make  a 
few  signs  of  the  cross:  I  am  certain  that  He  had 
just  passed  there. — What  do  you  think  of  that, 


i8  The    Montespan 

my  love?  As  for  me,  I  am  not  so  much  aston- 
ished at  the  villainy  of  men  as  at  their  frightful 
courage  in  losing  themselves  to  perdition  in  order 
to  satisfy  their  filthy  instincts.  Can  one  conceive 
of  such  a  thing,  as  that  beings  endowed  with  rea- 
son should  voluntarily  hand  themselves  over  to 
the  Enemy  of  the  human  race,  and  for  eternity"? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Why  not?  The  fact  is  they  want  what  they 
want,  and  in  order  to  execute  it  all  means  are 
good. 

THE  QUEEN 
Even  Hell? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

What  does  Hell  amount  to,  compared  with  Love 
or  Hate? 

THE  QUEEN 

But  my  dear,  one  loves  or  hates  only  for  a  few 
weeks.  One  is  burned  for  centuries. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

{Passionately]  What  does  that  matter,  if  for  a 
day,  an  hour,  a  second,  one  has  gained  the  vic- 
tory! Whose  soul  is  so  cowardly  that  he  would 


The    Montespan  19 

not  commit  one  crime,  were  that  alone  to  separate 
him  from  his  desired  end?  Such  a  soul  as  that 
does  not  love,  does  not  live.  Such  a  soul  is  noth- 
ing, it  has  never  existed ;  I  like  my  own  hell  better 
than  a  bovine  paradise,  ever  rechewing  its  dirty 
cud! 

THE  QUEEN 

Dear  me!  Dear  me!  Don't  get  so  excited! 
How  agitated  you  are!  One  would  say  you  ap- 
proved of  these  demon-worshippers! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  don't  approve  of  them,  Madam.  I  understand 
and  pity  them.  It  is  hypocritical  to  call  oneself 
a  Christian,  and  then  throw  stones  at  those  who 
have  sinned,  without  trying  to  realize  what  suf- 
fering they  have  gone  through  in  order  to  make 
up  their  minds  to  the  atrocious  heroism  of  sin. 

THE  QUEEN 

I  said  nothing,  my  dear,  I  accused  no  one.  I 
never  dreamed  you  would  take  it  so  to  heart! 
Don't  agitate  yourself.  Your  milk  will  turn. 
Get  back  under  the  sheets.  You're  in  a  cold 
sweat.  There,  let  us  speak  of  something  else. — 
And  what  did  you  do  with  my  beautiful  necklace? 


20 


MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What  necklace*? 

THE  QUEEN 

Why  that  diamond  necklace,  with  a  miniature 
representing  Lucretia.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

THE  QUEEN 

But  my  dear,  the  King  asked  me  for  it  last  night 
at  St.  Cloud,  at  Madame's;  and  I  gave  it  to  him 
with  great  delight;  for  I  never  doubted  that  it  was 
you  for  whom  he  intended  it.  You  mean  to  say^ 
he  didn't  present  it  to  you*?  His  expression  was 
so  gallant,  so  impassioned,  when  he  asked  me  for 
it  that  we  were  all  taken  in !  Then  he  must  have 
given  it  to  someone  else.  It's  unbelievable! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
He  will  very  likely  bring  it  to  me  presently. 

THE  QUEEN 

No,  of  that  much  I'm  quite  sure ;  because  I  asked 
him  this  morning  if  the  present  had  pleased,  and 


The    Montespan  21 

hie  said  yes.  That  means  he  has  disposed  of  it. 
Well !  That's  pleasant !  But  don't  be  anxious, 
my  child.  I'll  give  you  another. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  don't  want  it. 

THE  QUEEN 

Yes,  yes,  I  insist,  you  have  the  right  to  it.  It  will 
be  richer  even  than  the  first  one.  I  will  send  it 
to  you  at  once.  The  King  has  defrauded  you ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

No,  no,  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  it.  I  don't  want 
it. 

THE  QUEEN 

How  irritable  you  are!  Everything  hurts  you 
to-day.  You  are  ill.  I  won't  send  it,  my 
daughter.  I  don't  want  to  force  you. — But  at 
least,  tell  me  that  this  bit  of  gossip  hasn't  affected 
you*?  You  know  the  King:  those  are  his  little 
ways.  He  must  always  be  burning  for  some  pet- 
ticoat. As  for  me,  I  can  laugh  heartily  at  it. 
He  cannot  make  up  his  mind  to  grow  old.  But 
I  wonder  who  his  latest  flame  can  be*? 


22  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  am  tired.     I  beg  you  to  excuse  me. 

THE  QUEEN 

Yes,  yes,  I  know,  you  need  sleep.  I'm  going 
.  .  .  Dear  me,  how  badly  you  look !  One  really 
wouldn't  recognize  you.  Take  good  care  of  your- 
self, my  daughter.  Do  it  for  my  sake.  At  our 
age  one  must  be  careful.  Keep  up  your  courage, 
eat  well,  sleep  well,  and  don't  think  about  any- 
thing. 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN,  mute  and  quiver- 
ing, bows  to  tlie  QUEEN,  who  exits.  MME. 
DE  MONTESPAN  follows  her  with  her  eyes  as 
she  goes,  grinding  her  teeth,  her  fingers 
clutching  the  sheets.] 

[SCENE    III:     MADAME    DE    MONTESPAN,    LA 
VOISIN.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Sits  up  in  bed  and  calls]     Voisin! 

LA  VOISIN 

[Emerging  from  the  corner  of  the  bed  in 
whose  shadow  she  has  been  hiding] 
My  daughter? 


The    Montespan  23 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Did  you  hear?  He's  been  deceiving  me!  He 
loves  another.  Some  one  has  taken  my  place! 
He  gives  generously  to  others  of  what  is  mine. — 
That's  why  he  hasn't  been  here  to-day,  then !  He 
is  slipping  away  from  me.  ...  It  can't  be  so,  it 
isn't  true!  It's  an  invention  of  that  liar — 
that  evil-doing  idiot  has  imagined  this  tale,  this 
necklace  affair  in  order  to  torture  me ! 

LA  VOISIN 
She  told  you  the  truth.     You  have  a  rival. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Dunce!  You  knew  it  then,  and  you  said  noth- 
ing! 

LA  VOISIN 
One  more  insult,  and  I  leave  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Wait!  Ah,  how  you  abuse  the  fact  that  I  need 
you! — Who  is  this  woman?  Why  did  you  tell 
me  nothing"? 

LA  VOISIN 

I  can  give  people  the  means  to  foresee  their  own 
destiny  and  mould  it;  I  haven't  the  right  to  mould 
it  for  them. 


24  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Eh !  What  have  you  given  me  ?  I  have  believed 
in  you,  I  have  submitted  myself  to  you,  drunk 
your  philters,  recited  your  prayers,  worn  your 
amulets.  Every  day  in  order  to  obey  you,  I 
walk  on  the  edge  of  eternal  death.  And  what 
for?  For  this! 

LA  VOISIN 

What  are  you  complaining  of*?  Due  to  me,  you 
have  held  a  king's  heart  fast  for  fifteen  years. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Yes.  But  at  the  price  of  what  struggles!  Not 
an  hour  of  rest.  Every  day  a  new  fight.  And  no 
sooner  do  my  eyes,  overpowered  with  sleep,  close 
in  spite  of  me,  than  this  uncertain  heart  you  speak 
of,  steals  away  and  eludes  me.  What  exhaus- 
tion! Must  I  be  grateful  for  such  hourly  con- 
quests, where  everything  has  continually  to  re- 
commence? 

LA  VOISIN 

You  have  the  only  success  you  deserve.  The 
means  you  use  can't  give  you  anything  but  tran- 
sient victories.  Others,  stronger  than  you,  must 
achieve  the  final  triumph.  You  have  recoiled! 


The    Montespan  25 

You  alone  are  the  cause  of  what  you  reproach  me 
with. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What  more  could  I  do? 

LA  VOISIN 
You  know. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Be  quiet ! 

LA  VOISIN 

You  know  very  well  what  I'm  speaking  of.  It 
is  such  a  little  thing  after  all :  a  few  ceremonies, 
a  mass.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Yes,  a  mass,  the  Black  Mass.  ...  Be  quiet !  I 
forbade  you  to  mention  it  again. 

LA  VOISIN 

The  King's  grandfather  said  that  Paris  was  well 
worth  a  mass. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
But  what  a  Mass ! 

LA  VOISIN 

Well,  you  have  consented  to  use  the  Master;  but 
you  take  away  with  one  hand  what  you  give  with 


26  The    Montespan 

the  other.  Don't  be  astonished  if  He  does  the 
same.  To  be  sure  of  Him,  He  must  be  sure  of 
you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Do  I  refuse  him  anything  of  myself?  My  soul 
is  his;  but  he  must  not  ask  me  to  debase  myself 
to  these  foul  practices ! 

LA  VOISIN 

What  do  they  amount  to*?  A  few  gestures.  Not 
a  word.  Shut  your  eyes  and  give  over  your  body. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Eyes  fixed]  Nude,  lying  on  the  altar,  head  and 
limbs  hanging  down — the  eyes  and  hands  of  a 
vicious  priest  upon  me, — the  Lord's  cross  and  the 
sacred  chalice  on  my  sacrilegious  body, — the 
chalice,  red  with  the  blood  of  an  innocent  child! 
.  .  .  No,  no!  Be  gone! 

LA  VOISIN 

What  is  that,  compared  with  what  you  want? 
Isn't  the  power  that  only  demands  the  blood  of 
an  innocent  child,  obtained  at  a  very  low  cost? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  feel  sick.  I  will  not,  I  cannot  humiliate  my- 
self. 


The    Montespan  27 

LA  VOISIN 

[Bitterly}  You,  who  think  you  have  run  the 
gamut  of  voluptuous  sensations, — you  are  igno- 
rant of  the  most  powerful  one  of  all,  that  of 
degrading  oneself.  The  human  herd  is  parked 
between  two  narrow  limits :  that  of  good  and  that 
of  evil.  It  is  forbidden  to  go  either  higher  or 
lower.  Only  a  small  number  dare  cross  the  bar- 
riers; and  the  glory  is  greater  in  crossing  that  of 
evil  because  it  is  more  forbidden.  To  break  one's 
chains,  to  wrest  oneself  out  of  the  iron  collar  of 
human  morality,  to  slap  one's  conscience  in  the 
face,  to  vilify  oneself.  It  is  a  bitter  joy  for  those 
who  are  great  and  dominate  the  world.  It  is 
nothing  to  scorn  others:  one  must  also  scorn  one- 
self. What  a  delightful  sensation  to  trample 
under  foot  the  works  of  God,  to  soil  His  image, 
to  drag  oneself  down,  down  still  further !  Then 
one  becomes  like  the  Other,  the  One  who  laughs 
amid  sorrow  and  is  puffed  up  in  abjection,  the 
Master  who  holds  in  his  hands  all  the  power  of 
the  world,  not  in  order  to  use  it,  but  to  destroy  it ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Illness  has  broken  my  heart;  it  is  too  feeble  to 
bear  your  savage  ardors.  Ah!  Voisin!  I  can't. 


28  The    Montespan 

Think  that  one  instant  of  imprudence  would  suf- 
fice to  lose  me  forever ! 

LA  VOISIN 

One  instant  also  suffices,  if  you  do  not  act,  to  ruin 
your  power.     Dare! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Drily]     I  don't  wish  to. 

[LA    VOISIN    pretends    to    go.     MME.    DE 
MONTESPAN,  beseeching] 

Don't  be  angry,  Voisin,  don't  abandon  me!     I 
am  worn  out,  exhausted,  consumed  with  fever. 
I  can't  think.     Spare  me !     Later !     I  must  sleep 
now.     I  want  to  get  well,  I  want  to  get  well.  .  .  . 
[LA  VOISIN  starts  to  go.     MME.  DE  MON- 
TESPAN calls  her  back} 
Wait.     Let  us  say  the  prayer  together. 

[LA  VOISIN  returns,  kneels  down  by  the  bed. 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  seated  on  the  bed, 
says  the  prayer  with  restrained  exaltation] 
"I  ask  the  love  of  the  King:  that  it  shall  continue 
with  me.     That  no  other  woman  shall  enter  his 
bed.     That    my    rivals    shall    die.     That    the 
Queen's  race  shall  become  extinct:  that  my  chil- 
dren shall  take  the  places  of  hers  in  their  honors 


The    Montespan  29 

and  the  throne.  That  I  shall  be  all-powerful  at 
the  King's  counsels:  that  my  will  shall  be  his; 
that  my  creatures  shall  be  his ;  and  that  my  glory 
more  than  redoubling  the  past,  the  Queen  being 
repudiated,  I  can  espouse  the  King.* 
[Silence.] 

[LA  VOISIN  remains  kneeling  another  mo- 
ment, while  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  mute, 
seems  to  be  obstinately  attached  to  her  ideas. 
LA  VOISIN  gets  up,  arranges  the  pillows  for 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  who  gets  back  into 
bed;  she  then  draws  the  curtains  and  leaves. 
— MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN,  immobile,  eyes 
closed,  seems  to  sleep.] 

[SCENE  IV:     MARIE-AUBE  and  ANGELIQUE  DE 
FONTANGES  half  open  the  door  and  look  in. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Madam  is  sleeping. 

[They  enter  on  tiptoe  and  go  to  sit  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bed,  on  the  high  step  of  the 
platform,  their  backs  turned  to  MADAME  DE 
MONTESPAN.  They  talk  in  low  tones  and 
work  on  some  embroidery] 

•Note:    This  prayer  is  authentic  and  may  be  found  in  the 
French  archives. 


30  The   Montespan 

How  nervous  she  was  to-day !  She  seemed  to  be 
suffering. 

MARIE-AUBE 

My  mother  worries  all  the  time.  I  have  never 
seen  her  happy. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Never  happy !     A  day  like  this !  ...  Ah !  ... 
[Sighs,  looking  out  of  the  window.] 

MARIE-AUBE 
You're  sighing.     What  are  you  dreaming  of? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Ah,  Marie!  This  triumphant  day,  this  happy 
crowd,  these  glorious  acclamations,  all  Versailles 
come  to  give  homage,  and  the  Queen  herself! 
.  .  .  How  fortunate  Madam  is!  How  happy 
you  should  be  too ! 

MARIE-AUBE 

I  would  willingly  give  this  joy  to  you.  Or  rather 
.  .  .  God  keep  me  from  making  such  a  wish !  I 
love  you  too  much  to  wish  you  to  be  in  my  place. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
How  queerly  you  said  that !     What's  the  matter? 


The    Montespan  31 

MARIE-AUBE 
Oh,  nothing. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
You  have  tears  in  your  eyes. 

MARIE-AUBE 
It's  nothing;  it's  gone,  you  see. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

You  have  some  trouble,  I  have  noticed  it  for  some 
time.  And  just  now  again  on  the  balcony,  you 
were  really  quite  upset.  Have  you  any  secrets 
from  me?  You  must  tell  me  everything.  We 
promised  to  hide  nothing  from  each  other.  .  .  . 
Oh,  Marie,  don't  you  love  me*? 

MARIE-AUBE 

You'll  make  me  cry  again.     You  see,  I'm  absurd. 
I  do  all  I  can  to  stop  myself.  .  .  . 
[She  cries.] 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Good  Heavens!  What  anguish!  What's  the 
matter"?  Have  you  a  lover4? 

MARIE-AUBE 
[Smiling  through  her  tears]     No. 


MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
But  then  what  is  it,  darling? 

MARIE-AUBE 
Ah,  Fontanges,  to  live  in  this  ignominy! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
What  do  you  say? 

MARIE-AUBE 

To  feel  this  corruption  around  me,  this  odor  of 
sin,  the  breath  of  these  rotten  souls !  How  loath- 
some !  There  are  nights  when  I  can't  breathe ;  I 
sit  up  in  bed  without  daring  to  lay  my  head  on 
the  pillow.  I  don't  dare  even  touch  it  with  my 
hand:  the  walls,  the  sheets,  everything,  seems  to 
be  greasy  with  vice.  This  odor  of  death  suffocates 
me.  I  can't  live. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

But,  my  darling,  you  are  ill;  how  can  you  think 
such  things'? 

MARIE-AUBE 

Don't  oblige  me  to  tell  you  what  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do.  Doesn't  my  shame  make  you  blush? 
Don't  you  feel  around  me  the  horror  of  adultery? 


The    Montespan  33 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Marie ! 

MARIE-AUBE 

Ah !  good  God ! 

[She  turns  around  and  looks  at  MADAME  DE 

MONTESPAN,   who  is  motionless,   her  eyes 

closed] 
She  is  sleeping. 

[Lower] 

She  mustn't  hear!  I  would  die  of  grief  if  she 
should  suspect  what  is  in  my  heart ! — Fontanges, 
how  did  she  dare?  She  was  married,  she  had 
children;  and  the  King  too.  Nothing  stopped 
them  from  committing  this  sin,  from  living  in  this 
sin.  At  their  age,  Fontanges!  And  old  age  is 
coming  on  and  makes  the  crime  more  awful  from 
day  to  day.  All  these  people  who  know  it,  who 
see  it,  who  flatter  us  and  scorn  us !  This  terrible 
common  people,  exulting  in  the  birth  of  my 
brother,  a  little  unfortunate  being,  like  me  a  child 
of  sin,  like  me  a  bastard!  Oh!  Fontanges! 
They  called  me  that  just  now,  I  heard  it,  there, 
Monsieur  de  Gesvres.  .  .  . 

[She  weeps] 

He  is  right.  No  matter  what  I  do,  this  flesh, 
this  soul,  are  the  work  of  sin,  the  fruit  of  two 


34  THe   Montespan 

adulteries.  My  father  an  adulterer,  my  mother 
an  adulteress.  Isn't  it  horrible  ?  Who  will  wash 
me  of  this  shame? 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  sighs.] 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Puffing  her  hand  on  MARIE-AUBE'S  lips} 
Hush,  hush  please! 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Looking  at  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN] 
She  sighed.  She  is  dreaming.  .  .  .  Poor  Mother ! 
How  I  would  love  to  blot  out  her  crime!  How 
can  she  judge  herself*?  Everything  conspires  to 
bewilder  her.  Not  one  person  about  her  who 
dares  to  think  right.  No  advice.  I  tried  to  tell 
my  anguish  to  my  confessor,  but  he  has  forbidden 
me  to  speak.  I  can't  live  here.  If  I  could  only 
run  away! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Do  you  want  to  become  another  Hermit — to  look 
for  the  Thebais? 

MARIE-AUBE 

I  have  often  thought  of  it.  To  live  in  a  desert, 
far  from  everything,  with  God!  I  have  begged 


The    Montespan  35 

my  director  to  favor  my  wish!  I  asked  my 
mother  to  let  me  enter  religion.  They  sternly 
refused  me. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

They  were  right  to  prevent  you  from  bringing 
about  your  own  unhappiness. 

MARIE-AUBE 

What  happiness  is  there  in  staying  here?  Don't 
I  see  clearly  all  that  they  suffer1?  What  tears 
devour  my  mother?  What  torments !  Never  an 
instant  of  joy! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

You  are  not  worthy  of  your  happiness. — To  be 
what  you  are !  Why  it's  a  marvellous  thing !  If 
I  were  -only  in  your  place ! 

MARIE-AUBE 
Do  you  dare  to  envy  me? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
With  all  my  heart ! 

MARIE-AUBE 
In  spite  .  .  . 


MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Bah!  God  isn't  so  severe!  To  love  one  an- 
other, that's  no  great  matter.  A  love-affair  is 
quite  innocent.  Whom  do  a  few  caresses  harm? 
Must  one  bother  God  for  that? — And  then  of 
what  use  would  the  confessors  be,  if  one  had 
nothing  to  tell  them?  When  one  is  young,  it  is 
good  to  sin ! 

MARIE-AUBE 
You're  crazy! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

To  reign  over  the  hearts  of  men,  to  keep  the  eyes 
of  the  world  fixed  on  one's  glory,  to  feel  oneself 
enveloped  by  desires,  to  dispose  of  favors,  to  see 
a  king  on  his  knees !  How  delicious  all  that  is ! 
— Dear  King!  How  sweet  it  is  to  love  him  and 
be  loved  by  him !  How  good  he  is !  What  ten- 
derness and  majesty  he  has! 

[She  plays  with  her  necklace} 

MARIE-AUBE 
Stop,  Fontanges,  I  beg  of  you. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Why?     Can't  I  say  that  your  father  is  lovable? 


The    Montespan  37 

MARIE-AUBE 

He  is,  I  feel  it  too;  but  I  don't  know  why,  I  feel 
embarrassed  to  hear  you  say  so. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Putting  her  arms  around  MARIE-AUBE'S 

neck} 

Dear  Aube,  so  innocent!  Dear  little  bastard! 
Don't  you  realize  that  I  love  you  all  the  more 
for  being  one*? 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Disengaging  herself  from  her  embrace} 
Fontanges,  I  forbid  you!  ...  If  you  continue 
I'll  get  angry. — What  are  you  playing  with*? 
What  is  that  necklace*?  I've  never  seen  it  on 
you  before. — Show  it  to  me.  A  Lucrece.  But  it 
belongs  to  the  Queen ! 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  who  has  opened  her 
eyes  a  few  minutes  before,  and  has  lifted 
herself  up  little  by  little  in  the  bed,  follow- 
ing the  young  girls'  conversation  with  'de- 
vouring attention,  has  a  nervous  start  at 
MARIE-AUBE'S  last  word.} 
Where  did  you  get  it,  Fontanges? 


38  The    Montespan 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
It's  a  secret. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  who  gave  it  to  you? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Violently}     It's  the  King! 

[The  two  young  girls  start.  FONTANGES 
falls  on  her  knees  and  hides  her  face. 
MARIE-AUBE  rises,  looks  at  her  with  an- 
guish, and  gives  a  cry  of  sorrow.] 
[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  to  MARIK-AUBE, 
violently} 

Go! 

[MARIE-AUBE  goes  without  a  word,  pale  and 
frozen.} 

[SCENE    V:     MADAME    DE    MONTESPAN,    AN- 
GELIQUE  DE  FONTANGES] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You,  come  here! 

[MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  throws  herself  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  remains  there, 
her  face  hidden  in  the  sheets.} 

Is  it  the  King? 


The    Montespan  39 

[MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  is  silent,  immobile 
and  trembling.} 
Look  at  me ! 

[She  takes  her  violently  by  the  hair,  and 
forces  her  to  lift  her  head.} 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Madam,  you're  hurting  me.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Answer ! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

It  is. 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  snarls,  and  angrily 
twists  the  mass  of  hair  she  holds  in  her 
hand.  ] 
Madam,  I  shall  scream! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Loosens  her  grip,  throws  herself  back  on  the 
pillow,  sighs,  then,  sitting  up  again} 
When  did  he  give  it  to  you?     Where?     How? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
[Hesitating}     Madam.  .  .  . 


40  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
It  was  yesterday,  at  St.  Cloud,  at  Madame's. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
How  do  you  know*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
He  told  me  so. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
He  told  you?     The  King?     When? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
This  morning. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

It  isn't  true.     He  doesn't  come  here  without  first 

seeing  me! 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  makes  a  threatening 
movement.  MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  draws 
back  fearfully.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Sneeringly]     Then,  he  loves  you? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
[Lowering  her  head,  hardly  s ' peaking r,  but 
with  overwhelming  pride] 


The    Montespan  41 

Yes. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Since  when? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Two  months  ago. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Since  I  have  been  ill.  The  coward! — How  did 
you  get  to  know  him? 

[MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  shakes  her  head.} 
You    won't    say? — What's    that    to    me?     He 
doesn't  love  you.     He's  been  amusing  himself 
with  you.     You  have  lightened  his  boredom  for 
an  instant. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

He  doesn't  love  me?  Ah!  Dear  God!  I  be- 
lieve his  sweet  words,  his  passionate  caresses.  .  .  . 
He  doesn't  love  me?  Why  haven't  you  seen 
him  here,  Madam,  at  my  knees, — this  great 
King,  bathing  my  hands  with  his  wonderful 
tears ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[With  a  forced  laugh]     The  ninny!     Wouldn't 


42  The    Montespan 

one  say  she  was  about  to  swoon !  What  an  ideal 
love-affair!  A  disgusting  and  infirm  old  man. 
What  a  touching  spectacle,  this  fifty-year-old 
lover,  weeping  senile  tears  at  the  feet  of  a  worth- 
less little  trifle!  .  .  .  What"?  You  mean  to  say 
he  really  went  down  on  his  knees  ?  How  was  he 
able  to  get  up  again?  Did  he  call  his  valets'? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Ah!  How  easy  it  is  to  see  that  you  don't  love 
him,  that  you  never  have  loved  him!  I  despise 
you,  I  despise  you! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

By  what  shameful  means  did  you  awaken  his 
senses? 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

At  any  rate  I  didn't  make  up  to  him  as  you  did,  in 
broad  daylight,  in  a  gallery  open  to  passers-by! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Seizing  the  necklace  roughly] 
Give  it  to  me ! 


No! 


MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
[Trying  to  disengage  herself} 


The    Montespan  43 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  want  it. 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Struggling}     You  shan't  have  it!     You  shan't 
have  it! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Will  you  let  go?     I  will  break  your  hands! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

You're  lacerating  me!     You're  tearing  my  hair 
out.  .  .  .  Ah !     What  cruelty ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Tears  off  the  necklace] 
I  have  it ! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Give  it  back  to  me! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Get  away! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Thief!     I'll  let  everyone  know.     You've  stolen 
from  me.     It's  my  possession ! 


44  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Really!     There  it  is,  your  possession! 

[She  breaks  the  necklace  -with  her  hands,  and 
grinds  the  medallion  beneath  a  massive  ob- 
ject, a  candelabra  standing  on  the  table  near 
her.] 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
Ah! 

[With  concentration] 

How  glorious  that  is!  How  proud  you  must  be 
of  your  work !  Malevolent  and  cowardly  beast ! 
.  .  .  But  all  that  you  do  only  serves  to  show  all 
the  more  clearly  your  impotence.  The  King 
loves  you  no  longer.  He  told  me  so. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Straightening  up  in  a  menacing  manner] 
Be  quiet ! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

I  disdain  you.  We  laughed  at  you  together.  He 
loves  me.  I  am  young.  As  for  you,  you're  a 
sick  person,  an  old  woman ! 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  throws  back  her 
sheets  violently,  jumps  out  of  bed,  and  seizes 
a  knife  on  the  table.] 


The    Montespan  45 

Ah !  What  are  you  doing !  Pardon !  Help ! 
[She  gives  a  jump  backwards  and  rushes 
towards  the  end  of  the  room.  The  door 
opens.  People  appear,  and  look  curiously  in. 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  trembling  with  cold 
and  anger,  looks  at  MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 
with  scorn,  throws  the  knife  on  the  floor,  and 
gets  back  into  bed.\ 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[  With  cold  and  violent  anger] 
Street-walker!     Strumpet!     Off    with    you!     I 
turn  you  out! 

[To  the  people  listening  at  the  door] 
Who  called  you? 

[They  retire.] 

A  GENTLEMAN 

Madam,  the  King. 

[MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  runs  out  weeping, 
her  hair  in  disorder.  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
seizes  a  mirror  and  hastily  readjusts  herself .] 

[SCENE  VI:  The  KING  enters.  His  tone  and 
mien  are  courteous  and  gay,  with  a  certain 
affectation.  ] 


46  The    Montespan 

THE  KING 

Eh!     What,  Madam,  still  in  bed?     I  no  longer 
recognize  the  intrepid  Marquise.     We  must  have 
you  up !     We  must  have  you  up ! 
[He  kisses  her  hands.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Gravely]     I  almost  died  yesterday. 

THE  KING 

[Embarrassed]     It's  over,  it's  over,  let's  talk  no 
more  of  it. — You're  looking  wonderfully  well. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Bifferly]     Thanks  to  the  paint-box. 

THE  KING 

Eh!     Why  tell  me  so*?     I  don't  want  to  know 
anything  about  it.     Why  do  you  tremble? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I'm  cold. 

[The  KING  covers  her  with  the  sheets. — 
During  all  this  time,  lie  lias  been  looking 
about  him.  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  observes 
him} 

What  are  you  looking  for? 


The    Montespan  47 

THE  KING 
Are  you  alone? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  was  expecting  you. 

THE  KING 

What,  do  they  leave  you  alone?  That  can't  be 
permitted.  It  is  my  wish  that  one  of  your 
daughters  should  always  be  with  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  have  just  sent  them  away.  Does  it  frighten 
you  to  have  one  moment  alone  with  me? 

THE  KING 

What's  that  you  say,  Madam?     I  am  delighted. 
[He  fidgets  in  a  bored  way.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  hoped  to  see  you  yesterday. 

THE  KING 

No,  you  were  ill.  I  wanted  to  wait  until  you 
had  recovered,  in  order  to  see  you  always  beauti- 
ful, as  is  your  custom. 


MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Is  your  affection  so  fragile  that  you  feared  to  lose 
it  in  putting  it  to  the  test  of  illness? 

THE  KING 
I  don't  like  sadness.     One  must  put  it  out  of  sight. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

But  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  in  taking  a 
little  sadness  from  one's  friend,  one  leaves  him 
that  much  less  to  carry*? 

THE  KING 

Racine  once  told  me  a  beautiful  thing.  The 
Gods  of  Olympus  turned  away  from  the  death- 
beds of  men.  They  wouldn't  soil  their  eyes  with 
the  spectacle  of  death. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Sire,  the  Gods  of  Olympus  were  immortal,  and 
we  are  not.  What's  the  use  of  turning  away  our 
eyes,  when  death  travels  in  our  flesh,  when  each 
day  its  road  widens  in  our  wrinkles  and  pains'? 
Instead  of  giving  ourselves  illusions,  wouldn't  it 
be  more  intelligent  to  look  pityingly  on  the  rust 
of  age,  and  help  each  other  tenderly  to  bear  the 
horrors  of  growing  old  ? 


The    Montespan  49 

THE  KING 

[Discontentedly}  One  doesn't  grow  old  by 
wanting  it. — I  have  always  remarked,  Marquise, 
that  you  had  a  taste  for  morbid  fancies.  It 
doesn't  please  me.  Let  us  change  the  subject. — 
It's  true  you  seem  to  look  badly.  You  have 
changed. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Anxiously}  It's  nothing.  A  few  sunny  Hays 
will  put  me  right. 

THE  KING 
[Drily}     I  hope  so.     It's  not  right  to  be  sick. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  was  wrong  to  speak  to  you  of  my  troubles.  It 
is  I  myself  now,  who  beg  you  to  speak  of  some- 
thing else.  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day? 

THE  KING 

[Bored}  I  drove  out  in  the  barouche  after  din- 
ner, with  Madame  de  Bourbon,  the  Princess  of 
Conty,  and  their  daughters.  We  went  to  kill 
boars  in  the  woods.  They  killed  more  than 
twenty,  most  of  them  with  darts. 


50  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

The  air  must  have  been  sweet  in  the  moist  autumn 
woods. 

THE  KING 

[Yawning]  There  are  many  new  kinHs  of 
pheasants  in  the  forest,  and  it  has  never  been  so 
peopled  with  deer  and  small  game.  You  must 
see  it  soon.  You  must  get  up.  It  seems  cen- 
turies since  you've  been  seen  about.  The  court 
doesn't  know  you  any  more.  You  don't  do  any- 
thing. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Sire,  I  bear  Your  Majesty's  children. 

THE  KING 

[Bored]     You're  not   comfortable.     These  pil- 
lows are  disarranged.     I  must  call  someone. 
[He  rings.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

In  former  days  you  needed  no  one  to  pay  me  these 
attentions. 

[A  servant  appears.] 

THE  KING 
Ask  Mademoiselle  de  Fontanges  to  come  here. 


The    Montespan  51 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  x 

Why  she? 

THE  KING 
And  why  not"? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Very  well. 

[MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES  enters,  still 
•very  much  disturbed,  her  eyes  red.] 

[SCENE  VII:     MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  MLLE.  DE 
FONTANGES,  the  KING] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[In  a  hard  tone}     Arrange  these  pillows. 

[The  KING  tries  hard  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES,  who 
avoids  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  obstinately 
lowered.} 

THE  KING 

What  is  the  matter,  Mademoiselle*?     Have  you 
been  crying? 

[MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES  shakes  her 

head  without  speaking.} 
Your  eyes  are  red,  you  have  been  weeping. 


52  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

It  has  to  do  with  her  service,  something  between 

ourselves. 

[To  MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES,  drily] 

Have  you  finished?     Go! 

THE  KING 

[Emotionally}  Wait,  Mademoiselle — someone 
has  hurt  you.  You  have  an  enemy.  I  cannot 
bear  it.  Who  has  made  you  unhappy?  Con- 
fide in  your  King,  tell  him  all,  as  to  your  best 
friend. 

[MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES  turns  away  and  hides 

her  face  in  her  hands.  ] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Her  best  friend !     Her  best  lover,  you  mean ! 

THE  KING 
Madam! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Throws  herself  weeping,   at  the  feet  of 

the  KING] 

Ah,  Sire,  come  to  my  aid !  She  hates  me  because 
she  knows  that  I  love  you  and  that  you  love  me. 
She  insulted  me  before  the  whole  court,  just  now, 


53 


calling  me  terrible  names, — names — I  wouldn't 
dare  to  repeat  them !  She  struck  me,  she  wanted 
to  kill  me;  and  your  necklace,  Sire,  the  necklace 
you  gave  me,  she  tore  it  off  by  force,  she  .  .  a 
Ah,  look,  look  what  she  did  with  it ! 
[She  sobs.] 

THE  KING 

[To  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN] 
What,  Madam,  you  dared!  .  .  . 

[To  MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES] 
Arise,  Mademoiselle,  in  the  name  of  heaven  do 
not  cry,  you  break  my  heart!     Don't  cry,  my 
beautiful ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

How  can  you  speak  of  audacity,  you  who  come 
here  to  debauch  my  servants'? 

THE  KING 
I  do  my  will. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Then  it  isn't  only  your  action,  but  your  will  which 
is  base. 

THE  KING 

Do  you  forget  who  I  am4? 


54  The   Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
No,  you're  an  old  man. 

THE  KING 
Madam!  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  thought  you  would  at  least  have  had  sufficient 
decency  to  blush  for  these  shameful  weaknesses. 
But  no !  You  parade  your  senile  love  for  a  cor- 
rupt little  girl  with  a  coarse  figure,  hideous  teeth, 
no  neck,  flat  arms,  who  is  dirty,  ugly,  asinine, 
this  .  .  . 

THE  KING  . 

How  dare  you  insult  a  person  whom  I  honor*? 
Can  one  push  insolence  any  further  than  to  de- 
spise what  one's  King  esteems'?  By  heaven! 
That  is  to  be  miserable  indeed!  Not  a  little 
gentleman  who  doesn't  make  his  mistress  re- 
spected by  his  friends  and  servants, — and  a  King 
cannot  manage  to  achieve  it?  I  protest,  however, 
that  whatever  the  means  may  be,  I  will  succeed. 
Speak  freely,  Mademoiselle.  What  do  you  wish 
me  to  do  to  those  who  have  outraged  you?  Be 
certain  that  I  shall  always  be  able  to  satisfy  you. 


The    Montespan  55 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Wiping  her  tears,  her  eyes  gleaming  with 
pride  and  defiance] 
Sire,  love  me !     I  ask  nothing  more. 

THE  KING 
How  generous  you  are! 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

Let  this  sick  woman  debase  herself  to  such  ig- 
noble insults,  if  she  wishes!  I  revenge  myself 
upon  her  by  forgetting  her.  Nothing  could  hurt 
her  more.  Come. 

THE  KING 
I  adore  you. 

[MADEMOISELLE  DE  FONTANGES  throws  a 
triumphant  glance  at  MADAME  DE  MONTES- 
PAN, and  goes  out.  The  KING  follows  her.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You're  not  going"?  .  .  .  Wait  a  moment, — 
please!  Don't  leave  me  this  way!  I  want  to 
tell  you.  ...  I  was  too  violent,  it's  true — but 
I'm  sick.  Don't  be  so  hard,  Sire!  Think  how 
much  you  have  loved  me,  for  how  many  years 
I  have  shared  your  life!  We  have  had  every- 


56  The    Montespan 

thing  in  common !  At  this  moment,  when  a  new 
child  links  us  more  closely  than  ever,  we  mustn't 
separate  for  the  caprice  of  an  hour ! 

THE  KING 

You  spoke  of  my  age  just  now,  Madam.  It's 
true  that  I  have  known  you  for  fifteen  years.  It's 
a  long  time  for  a  love-affair.  Adieu. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Louis ! 

[The  KING  exits.] 

[SCENE    VIII:     MADAME    DE    MONTESPAN, — 
LA  VOISIN.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Follows  the  KING  with  her  eyes,  panting, 

her  body  straining  over  the  edge  of  the  bed] 
No,  it  can't  be.  .  .    ! 

[Puts  her   hand   to   her  throat  as   though 

stifling} 
Ah! 

[Leaps  out  of  bed  and  calls  in  an  indistinct 

and  strangled  voice] 
Voisin ! 

[Walks   haltingly,   swaying   at   each   step, 

knocking  against  the  furniture  and  grasping 


The    Montespan  57 

on  to  chairs  which  she  overthrows,  takes  up 
some  clothes,  tries  clumsily  to  put  them  on, 
stops  suddenly  seized  with  pains,  all  but 
faints.} 

[At  the  noise  of  the  chair  falling  LA  VOISIN 
and  several  women  appear.} 

LA  VOISIN 

Eh!     Madam  what  are  you  doing1?  .  .  .  She'll 
fall! 

[The  women  rusk  to  hold  her.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Mechanically]     I  want  .  .  . 
[Tries  to  dress  herself.} 

LA  VOISIN 
Go  back  to  bed !     You're  shivering. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
No!     Help  me.  ...  I  want  .  .  2 

LA  VOISIN 
You  can't  stand  up. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[In  spite  of  her  efforts,  is  forced  to  sit  down} 


58  The    Montespan 

Ah!     How  dearly  you  have  cost  me:  cursed  be 
you! 

[She  strikes  her  body  in  a  frenzy. \ 

LA  VOISIN 
You  are  killing  yourself. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Cursed  be  my  womb!     Cursed  what  it  has  car- 
ried ! 

[She  sees  her  baby  which  MARIE-AUBE  has 

carried  in} 

Take  it  away!     I  can't  look  at  it.     It's  horrible 
to  me! 

[MARIE-AUBE  gives  the  child  to  a  woman 

and  runs  towards  her.} 
Go  away !     All  of  you ! 

[To  LA  VOISIN] 
You  stay.     Make  them  go. 

LA  VOISIN 

[To  MARIE-AUBE] 
You'd  better  go.     Don't  antagonize  her. 

[They  all  go  out  except  VOISIN,  who  comes 
back  to  MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN.  She  is 
still  trying  obstinately  to  dress  herself.} 


The    Montespan  59 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Dress  me.     I  can't. 

LA  VOISIN 
[Obeying}     What  do  you  want  to  do1? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Let  us  go!  .  .  . 

LA  VOISIN 
Where? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Where  you  wish  to  go. 

LA  VOISIN 

The  Black  Mass? 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  nods  her  head.} 
You've  come  to  it  at  last! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

The  power  is  escaping  me;  it's  slipping  from  my 
fingers,  they're  too  weak  to  hold  it  back.  One 
instant  more,  and  I  will  lose  it  forever.  Help! 

LA  VOISIN 

The  situation  has  changed.  I  don't  know  if  I 
can. 


60  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What? 

LA  VOISIN 

They're  tracking  us.  The  Police-Lieutenant  is 
relentless  in  our  pursuit.  Just  now  Romani,  one 
of  our  friends,  confessed  at  the  torture.  I  am 
suspected;  I  mustn't  budge. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
You're  going  to  refuse  now? 

LA  VOISIN 
I  don't  refuse.     We  must  wait. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Wait !  Wait !  When  the  earth  is  crumbling  be- 
neath me ! 

LA  VOISIN 
You  should  have  acted  sooner. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Gasping,  looks  about  her,  then  at  herself :, 

and  takes  off  her  bracelet] 
Here,  take  it,  take  it!  ...  What  more  do  you 
want?     Whatever  it  is  I  will  give  it  to  you. 


The    Montespan  61 

LA  VOISIN 

[Looks  at  and  fingers  fhe  bracelet] 
What  good  will  it  do  me  at  the  stake? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Are  you  going  to  abandon  me*? 

LA  VOISIN 

Eh!  Before  thinking  of  you,  I  must  think  of 
myself! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Menacing]  Are  you  betraying  me,  are  you  with 
my  enemies'?  .  .  .  Take  care,  Voisin!  Obey. 
I  swear  that  if  you  refuse  I  will  give  you  up  to 
them. 

LA  VOISIN 
You? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Yes. 

LA  VOISIN 
To  lose  me  is  to  lose  yourself. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  am  lost  in  any  case. 


62  The    Montespan 

LA  VOISIN 

Very  well;  but  if  I  am  taken,  I  will  not  spare 
you  either. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
You'll  do  it? 

LA  VOISIN 

Yes.  Whether  they  take  me  or  not,  at  least  I 
will  have  had  before  dying,  the  satisfaction  I  have 
been  longing  for. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What's  that? 

LA  VOISIN 

I  can  tell  you  now.  It's  not  a  secret  I  imagine, 
either  for  you  or  me,  that  we  have  no  great  affec- 
tion for  each  other;  and  we  have  no  reason  to 
help  each  other  any  further  than  our  common  in- 
terest finds  it  profitable. — I  know  you,  I  know 
this  vain  and  hypocritical  court;  I  know  what  is 
hidden  in  the  bottom  of  your  hearts :  the  profound 
bestiality  of  your  thoughts.  And  I  have  enjoyed 
being  able,  in  spite  of  you,  to  rub  your  noses  in 
your  own  dirt,  to  bring  you  to  the  yoke  of  my 
Master.  For  years  I  have  been  waiting  for  this 
sensation. — To-day  it  is  mine! 


The    Montespan  63 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Lifting  her  hands  to  heaven] 
Heavens !     How  you  humiliate  me ! — Remember 
that  if  you  debase  me  in  vain,  if  you  don't  give 
me  the  victory,  I  will  kill  you.  .  .  .  Let  us  go ! 

LA  VOISIN 

We  must  wait  until  night.  The  priest  is  there, 
I  have  notified  Guibourg;  I  have  the  victim:  ev- 
erything is  ready.  It's  twilight  now.  Come  to 
the  chapel.  Lean  on  me. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

What  am  I  doing*?  ...  I  don't  know.  .  .  . 
Ah! 

[She  groans,  torn  by  a  sudden  pain.] 

LA  VOISIN 
Are  you  in  pain? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Growing  pale,  clasping  herself  tightly,  her 
arms  crossed  on  her  breast} 
I  am  dying;  but  let  me  die  a  Queen! 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 
SCENE  I 

Night. — A  gallery  in  the  Palace.  The  windows 
at  the  back  look  on  to  a  court.  To  the  left,  a  few 
steps  lead  to  an  oratory;  its  door  is  closed,  and 
one  sees  the  white  window-panes  with  iron  bars. 
The  stage  is  half-dark,  lighted  only  by  the  win- 
dows illumined  from  within  and  the  flickering 
glimmer  of  a  night-lamp,  which  burns  at  the  foot 
of  a  statue  of  the  Virgin,  in  a  niche  beside  the 
door  of  the  oratory.  Little  by  little,  moonlight 
penetrates  the  gallery. 

MARIE-AUBE  enters  gropingly.  She  sees  the 
lighted  windows  of  the  oratory. 

MARIE-AUBE 

Ah!  ...  She's  here!  .  .  . 

[Goes  rapidly  towards  the  door,  then  stops] 
I  must.  .  .  . 

[Takes  a  few  more  steps,  stretches  out  her 

hand  to  the  door-knob,  then  withdraws  it 

again] 

64 


The    Montespan  65 

What      am      I      afraid      of*?  ....  Courage! 
[Tries  to  open  the  door.     In  a  whisper] 

The  door's  locked.  .  .  . 

[She  sits  down  on  a  step  and  begins  to 
tremble  without  speaking;  gets  up} 

I  must  see! 

[Looks  up  at  the  lighted  windows,  goes  up 
the  steps  again,  and  by  holding  on  to  the 
bars,  succeeds  in  lifting  herself  up  until  her 
face  is  on  a  level  with  the  window;  but,  just 
about  to  look,  she  turns  her  head  away  again] 

I  don't  dare.  .  .  . 

[Looks,  starts,  and  remains  mute,  eyes 
dilated,  hands  clutching  the  bars.  One  hears 
her  gasp,  and  her  teeth  chatter  in  the  silence. 
Finally  she  groans  slightly,  then  trembles 
through  her  whole  body.  Her  hands  loosen. 
She  falls  in  a  faint.] 
[Silence.] 

[A  clock  strikes  the  quarter-hour.  The 
moon,  veiled  until  now,  commences  to  illu- 
mine the  scene.  The  light  in  the  chapel 
goes  out.] 

[SCENE  II:  The  chapel  door  opens.  A  fright- 
ened man's  face,  fat  and  brutal-looking,  peers  out, 
and  looks  around  slowly.  Two  women  come  out, 


66  The   Montespan 

one  holding  an  indistinct  and  lugubrious  form 
wrapped  in  a  white  sheet,  the  other  carrying 
some  napkins  and  stoles;  after  them  the  man,  a 
priest,  carrying  a  chalice  which  he  hides  under 
his  cloak. — They  hug  the  walls  fearfully,  glide 
along  the  gallery  like  birds  of  the  night,  and  dis- 
appear. ] 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  appears.  She 
looks  around  her  wildly.  LA  VOISIN,  who 
has  followed  her  out,  tries  to  give  her  her 
hand.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Pushes  her  away} 

Don't  touch  me! 

[LA  VOISIN  shrugs  her  shoulders,  grumbles, 
looks  out  at  the  sky  and  the  court  from  the 
window  of  the  gallery,  and  goes  out.  MA- 
DAME DE  MONTESPAN  walks  on  with  uncer- 
tain and  precipitated  steps  and  stumbles 
against  the  body  of  her  daughter] 

Ah! 

[Leans  over  her] 

Marie-Aube ! 

[Kneels  beside  her} 

She  has  fainted!  .  .  . 

[Lifts  up  her  head  and  kisses  'her] 


The    Montespan  67 

Aube!     My  dearest  Aube!  .  .  . 

[MARIE-AUBE  opens  her  eyes,  looks  at  her 
mother,  has  a  movement  of  fright,  throws 
herself  backwards  violently,  and  hides  her 
face.} 

What"?  I  frighten  you?  .  .  .  My  darling,  my 
little  girl,  it's  I.  ...  Why  do  you  turn  away 
from  me*?  Why  do  you  hide  yourself?  .  .  . 
Marie-Aube,  look  at  me.  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE 
[As  before}     No!     No!  .  .  .  leave  me  alone! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Raises  her  head  sharply,  looks-  at  the  chapel' 

window  above  her,   then  at  her  daughter. 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  in  an  altered 

voice} 

Aube  .  .  .  did  you  see"?  Look  at  me!  .  .  . 
You  saw. 

[She  leans  over  her  and  pulls  her  hands 

away  from  her  face.} 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Her  face  uncovered,  but  with  eyes  closed, 
turns  her  head  away  with  instinctive  repul- 
sion} 


68  The    Montespan 

Please,  Madam,  please!  Don't  question  me! 
Let  me  go.  ...  I  want  to  go  away,  I  want  to  go 
to  a  convent.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Overcome,  letting  her  go} 
You  saw.  ...  I  am  horrible  to  you. — 
[Bitterly}     You    are    right. — Well,    you    will 
never  despise  me  as  much  as  I  despise  myself! 
.  .  .  This  king,  this  king  for  whom  I  have  de- 
based myself!     I  hate  him  for  having  forced  me 
to  it. 

[She  turns  away  from  her;  and  seated  a  few 
steps  offjooks  out  into  space  with  a  desperate 
sadness] 

[MARIE-AUBE  raises  her  head,  looks  at  her 
mother,  and  seized  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
love  and  'fjfy,  is  about  to  throw  herself  into 
her  arms.} 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  recoils  in  her 
turn,  fearfully,  and  pushes  her  away} 
No!  Don't  touch  me!  Go  away  from  me!  I 
soil  everything  I  touch.  Ah!  If  I  could  only 
tear  myself  out  of  myself!  Where  to  flee  this 
polluted  body,  the  horror  that  wrings  my  entrails? 
...  I  feel  upon  me  like  a  red-hot  iron  the  mark 


The    Montespan  69 

of  the  golden  chalice  and  the  eyes  of  that  lascivi- 
ous priest.  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Wrings  her  hands,  weeping] 
Oh !     How,  how  were  you  able  to  do  it*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Sorrowfully]  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know! .  .  . 
What  have  I  done?  How  did  I  come  here"? — • 
When  I  saw  I  was  going  to  lose,  that  they  were 
going  to  steal  what  I  had  wrested  by  a  whole 
life  of  pains,  I  lost  my  reason,  a  madness  pushed 
me.  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE  t 

What  was  this  precious  thing  you  had  ^gaine3*? 
Was  it  Happiness*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Bitterly]  Happiness !  There  is  no  happiness ! 
.  .  .  Power  is  joyless;  but  it's  torture  to  lose  it. 
— Oh,  you  can't  understand.  .  .  .  you  don't 
know  the  bitter  need  to  dominate.  It  isn't  the 
glory  of  being  above  these  beggars;  it's  the  in- 
tolerable suffering  of  being  here  below,  in  the 
midst  of  them,  this  human  cattle.  Have  you 
never  felt  the  horror  of  a  flock  of  sheep,  those 


yo  The    Montespan 

stupid  heads  crushed  by  a  century-old  weight,  that 
butcher's  meat  with  its  ignoble  odor,  where  lam- 
entable and  grotesque  plaints  pass  like  a  breath 
of  wind  *?  Thus  men  appear  to  me :  beasts  heaped 
up  at  the  bottom  of  a  well,  howling  and  smelling, 
intermingled,  stepping  over  each  other  with  idiotic 
cries  and  laughs.  In  order  to  flee  from  them  I 
clambered  up  the  mountain  above  them  on  hands 
and  knees;  I  slid,  fell;  but  wounded,  got  up 
again;  the  odious  voices  faded  away  behind  me, 
the  air  became  less  soiled,  I  perceived  the  lumi- 
nous summits.  Here  they  are!  I  have  reached 
them!  .  .  .  And  now,  I  must  fall  back  again 
among  these  wretches!  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE 
They  are  our  fellow-men. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

They're  not  my  fellow-men!  They  are  made 
to  obey,  and  I  to  command. 

MARIE-AUBE 
God  alone  commands,  we  are  His  instruments. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
The  crowd  is  only  dust  swept  by  the  winH.     A 


The    Montespan  71 

great  soul  is  the  wind  which  sweeps  the  dust,  the 
very  breath  of  God. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Power  corrupts  the  soul. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Power  purifies  the  soul.  What  corrupts,  is  base 
mediocrity,  everything  that  demands  a  comprom- 
ise, the  hypocrisy  of  half-measures,  half-actions, 
half -thoughts.  There  is  only  one  crime  in  the 
world, — not  to  be  one's  self.  God!  When  I 
realize  that  so  many  mediocre  beings  by  their 
birth  alone  find  themselves  at  the  very  top  of 
the  world,  and  that  I  must  suffer  so  much  to  reach 
it!  I  am  not  there  yet,  and  every  step  I  gain  is 
disputed  by  unworthy  rivals, — this  stupid  little 
girl  who  wants  to  carry  off  my  possession !  My 
possession !  I  have  a  right  to  it.  I  will  have  it ! 

MARIE-AUBE 
[Sadly]     And  afterwards? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Afterwards  I  am  lost.  It's  the  other  world.  But 
let  me  have  this  one !  Death  is  far  off. 


72  The    Montespan 

MARIE-AUBE 

Alas!  Death  is  near,  Mother. — Think — the 
years  are  passing! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Yes.  That's  the  true  Hell !  To  grow  old !  No 
torture  can  be  compared  to  it.  To  feel  your  flesh 
slowly  rot,  see  your  body  change  with  your  own 
eyes,  like  a  wall  grown  mouldy  by  humidity, — 
your  skin  turn  yellow,  your  teeth  spot,  your  face 
line  up  with  burlesque  and  hideous  wrinkles, 
where  Death  grimaces.  .  .  .  What  has  Hell  ever 
invented  like  it?  Oh!  What  ignominy!  .  .  . 
And  to  think  that  nothing,  nothing  can  arrest  this 
living  death!  Each  day  it  spreads  over  this 
beautiful  body  that  is  yours  .  .  .  that  was  yours, 
of  which  you  were  so  proud.  Sometimes  I  am  so 
cowardly  in  the  morning,  when  I  dress,  that  I 
don't  dare  to  look  at  myself:  I'm  afraid  to  see. 
.  .  .  How  stupid!  .  .  .  Beneath  the  make-up 
and  clothes,  the  work  of  destruction  continues 
with  never  a  halt.  If  the  eyes  refuse  to  see,  the 
implacable  mind  does  not.  The  enemy  reminds 
us  of  himself  by  a  thousand  dumb  pains. — He 
travels  silently  in  the  sunken  chest,  the  congested 
heart,  the  withered  organs.  What's  the  use  of 


The    Montespan  73 

struggling?  One  is  weary  of  this  vain  combat. 
There  is  nothing  left  but  to  lie  down  on  the  earth 
and  die.  I  pass  whole  nights  weeping  in  despair. 
.  .  .  But  what  have  I  done,  what  have  I  done, 
to  see  this  flesh  that  I  loved,  spoil  and  die  ?  Only 
an  instant  ago  I  was  still  like  you.  You  don't 
understand,  you  think  there  is  a  world  between 
us.  ...  You  will  see  for  yourself:  as  far  away 
as  it  seems,  one  has  hardly  begun  to  live  before 
it  is  already  finished. 

MARIE-AUBE 
It's  the  law:  why  revolt  against  it*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Because  it  is  the  law !  What  have  I  to  do  with 
a  law*?  Why  does  it  crush  me*?  Have  I  signed 
a  pact*?  Why  do  they  impose  upon  me  a  law 
that  is  not  made  for  me*?  Let  slaves  bow  before 
the  shame  of  growing  old,  let  them  adore  it  if 
they  wish  to,  as  a  sacred  necessity.  As  for  me, 
I  vomit  it! 

MARIE-AUBE 

Everything  passes,  old  age  like  the  rest.  A  day 
will  come  when  the  body  and  soul  will  flower 
again. 


74  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  don't  believe  in  those  dreams. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Don't  blaspheme! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

It  isn't  I  that  blaspheme,  it's  those  who  believe 
such  a  cowardly  God  can  exist.  .  .  .  This  God  of 
hospitals  and  charnel-houses!  What  Roman 
Csesar  ever  enjoyed  more  ignoble  games  than  his! 
One  would  say  that  he  takes  pleasure  in  invent- 
ing beings  in  order  to  make  them  suffer,  and  de- 
grade them.  But  what  a  taste  he  has  for  ugliness 
and  death!  To  make  of  an  adolescent,  radiant 
with  hope,  a  faded  old  woman,  and  of  a  juvenile 
body,  a  stinking  ordure,  what  a  triumph!  And 
what  respect  we  ought  to  have  for  the  execu- 
tioner ! 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Supplicating}  Mother,  Mother,  you  break  my 
heart ! 

[Closes  her  mother  s  mouth  with  her  hand.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Looking  at  her  with  a  strange  smile] 


The    Montespan  75 

How  young  you  are !     How  happy  you  are  to  be 
young ! 

MARIE-AUBE 

Don't  look  at  me  that  way,  Madam !     Your  eyes 
frighten  me:  they  hate  me. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Continuing  to  look  at  her  with  envy  and 

pity] 

Oh,  to  be  like  that  again  just  two  years  more, — 
just  two  years! 

MARIE-AUBE 
I  wish  I  could  give  you  this  body  you  envy ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What  has  it  done  to  you? 

MARIE-AUBE 

It's  a  burden.     Still  so  many  more  years  to  de- 
fend myself !     I  want  it  to  be  over. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Life   is   too  strong  a  wine  for  your  head.     It 
frightens  you*? 

MARIE-AUBE 

It's  odious  to  me. 


76  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Because  of  me,  isn't  it  so? 

MARIE-AUBE 
Not  only  you,  Madam. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Bitterly]     Not  only  me? 

MARIE-AUBE 
What  have  I  said?     It  isn't  so.  .  .  s 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Yes  it  is. — Then,  I  make  you  suffer? 

MARIE-AUBE 
[In  a  low  voice]     Yes. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Tell  me  everything. 

MARIE-AUBE 

I  can't.     Oh,  how  I  detest  life !     That  it  should 
have  made  of  you,  you  whom  I  love,  you  whom  I 
admire  in  spite  of  everything  .  .  . 
[Stops] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Well? 


The    Montespan  77 

MARIE-AUBE 

[After  a  silence^  starts  to  take  her  hands] 
Pardon  me. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Disengaging  herself  gently]  Your  silence 
is  crueller  than  any  words.  I  have  deserved  it. 
It's  right. 

MARIE-AUBE 

No,  no,  you  are  mistaken.  I  love  you,  I  love 
you!  That's  why  I  can't  endure  anything  that 
lessens  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Looking  at  her  with  surprise] 
You  love  me,  in  spite  of  everything? 

MARIE-AUBE 

[With  intense  passion] 
More  than  everything,  Madam. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

How  can  you?  I  have  hardly  loved  you  at  all. 
I  have  never  done  anything  for  you. 

MARIE-AUBE 

You  don't  know  all  you  have  been  to  me  since 
my  childhood.  ...  I  didn't  see  you  often.  You 


78  The    Montespan 

sent  us  away  from  you.  But  they  spoke  to  me 
of  you,  I  dreamed  of  you,  Madam.  Your  por- 
trait was  in  my  room;  I  adored  it,  gazed  at  it, 
talked  to  it.  When  I  was  alone,  I  got  up  on  the 
chair  to  kiss  it.  And  the  days  you  came  to  see 
me,  my  heart  used  to  beat  for  joy.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Smiling  sadly}  I  was  very  cold  and  hurned. 
I  looked  at  you  harshly  and  had  hardly  arrived 
before  I  thought  of  leaving. 

MARIE-AUBE 

.  .  .  Then  I  came  to  court.  I  was  happy  to  be 
near  you,  to  live  in  your  light,  to  breathe  the 
same  air.  But  I  felt  myself  to  be  ugly  and  gauche 
beside  you,  I  was  afraid  of  displeasing  you,  and 
that  froze  me.  What  I  liked  best  was  to  hide 
myself  in  some  corner  of  your  room,  behind  a  cur- 
tain, and  look  at  you  when  the  King,  the  Court, 
and  the  ambassadors  were  assembled  about  you, 
surrounding  you  with  homage.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  everyone  loved  you  as  I  did,  and  my  soul 
was  flooded  with  joy.  .  .  .  Then  one  day  ...  I 
was  still  a  child,  I  was  playing  with  my  brother, 
Monsieur  the  Duke  of  Vexin,  in  the  gallery  on 
the  first  floor.  The  window  was  open.  In  the 


The    Montespan  79 

garden  below,  two  gentlemen  were  talking.  .  .  . 
I  thought  they  were  our  friends!  I  listened  to 
what  they  said.  .  .  .  Oh!  Madam! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Violently}     Who  was  it? 

MARIE-AUBE 
I  don't  know. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Insistently}     Was  it  Monsieur  de  Gesvres*? 

MARIE-AUBE 

No,  I  won't  tell.  What's  the  use*?  They  are 
all  the  same,  you  know  it  well.  I  have  realized 
it  since.  But  then, — it  was  harrowing  to  me.  I 
didn't  understand  very  well  all  the  villainous 
things  they  said,  but  it  served  to  teach  me  so  much 
of  which  I  was  ignorant.  Since  that  moment  I 
have  looked  at  everything  with  different  eyes;  I 
know  what  those  smiles  and  flatteries  amount  to. 
I  have  also  learned  to  see  your  tears.  My  God ! 
How  can  you  live  this  way,  you  who  are  so  proud*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[Despondently}     What  would  you  have  me  do? 


8o  The    Montespan 

MARIE-AUBE 

Leave  them,  Mother  dear,  come  with  me,  come 
into  retreat,  far  from  Court,  in  God.  One 
breathes  freely,  one  doesn't  grow  old  in  God. 
The  days  pass,  the  soul  flowers  like  an  eternal 
spring.  It  is  a  love  that  doesn't  deceive,  and 
is  safe  from  jealousies;  the  more  one  shares  it,  the 
greater  is  the  part  of  each.  Oh!  How  sweet  it 
would  be  to  love  Him  with  you,  to  dream  of 
Him  together,  down  there  in  our  province,  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  woods,  to  the  sound  of  the 
church-bells  of  our  villages,  and  the  tranquil 
fountains ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Looking  long  at  her  daughter,  and  smiling 

with  melancholy} 

Poor  little  dreamer,  what  you're  saying  is  mad; 
it's  a  mental  illusion.  I  know  it.  But  I  love  it. 
I  love  your  purity.  If  your  dreams  are  not  true, 
your  tears  are  true,  your  love  is  true.  My  dar- 
ling, your  goodness  melts  my  heart;  it  doesn't 
recognize  itself  any  longer;  you  make  it  feel  the 
happiness  of  loving  for  the  first  time.  Let  me 
look  at  you !  I  have  never  seen  you  before.  .  .  . 
How  fresh  you  are !  Your  skin  is  like  a  tissue  of 


The    Montespan  81 

flowers;  the  tears  that  make  an  old  woman  like 
me  ugly,  are  as  dew  on  your  cheeks.  .  .  .  Don't 
turn  away.  I'm  not  jealous  now.  Aren't  you 
myself?  How  strange  and  sweet  it  is  that  you 
should  be  I,  my  fruit  and  flesh !  How  is  it  that 
I  had  to  wait  till  now,  to  taste  the  consoling 
charm  of  reliving  in  you !  Where  am  I*?  Here, 
or  there?  Oh  my  youth,  laugh  with  me,  don't  be 
sad,  don't  be  sad  through  me!  I  will  do  what 
you  wish,  all  that  you  wish,  my  love,  even  if  it 
is  absurd,  so  that  you  shall  be  happy,  that  I  shall 
be  happy  in  you,  so  that  mirroring  my  poor  tired 
face  and  eyes  in  thy  eyes,  in  thy  heart,  O  my 
fountain  of  youth,  I  can  see  smiling  there  the 
candid  reflection  of  thy  young  face.  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE 
Mother,  then,  you'll  do  it?  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
We  will  leave  tomorrow. 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Intensely]     Oh!     Thank  you! 

[Embraces  her.] 

[Loud  noise  of  voices  outside.] 
What  is  happening? 


82  The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Go  back  quickly,  don't  let  them  find  you  here. 

MARIE-AUBE 
But  you? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Smiling  at  her,  suddenly  perceives  the  face 
of  LA  VOISIN,  hidden  in  a  corner  of  the  gal- 
lery. Her  voice  changes  abruptly] 

I  don't  need  any  one,  I  will  go  back  alone.  .  .  . 

Go.  ... 

[MARIE-AUBE  runs  off  on  tiptoes,  blowing 
her  a  kiss.  ] 

[SCENE  III:     MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  LA  VOISIN; 
later  some  GENTLEMEN. 

LA  VOISIN 

[Runs  to  her,  frightened] 
Madam,  we  are  lost! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
What? 

LA  VOISIN 

They  were  spying  on  us.  The  Police-Lieutenant 
has  been  playing  with  us  for  weeks.  A  constable 
was  waiting,  hidden  near  the  door.  I  suspected 


THe   Montespan  83 

it.  I  let  Guibourg  and  La  Poulain  go  ahead. 
They  had  hardly  gotten  out  before  they  were  upon 
them.  They  ran,  they're  chasing  them. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

They  saw  you*? 

LA  VOISIN 

No.  But  it  is  a  matter  of  hours.  If  Guibourg  is 
taken,  he  will  speak.  I  know  him.  He  has 
nothing  more  to  hope,  nothing  to  fear.  He  will 
denounce  us  all. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Wretch!  That's  what  you've  brought  me  to! 
It's  for  that,  that  I  have  debased  myself. 

LA  VOISIN 

It's  not  for  you  to  reproach  us!  We  have  lost 
ourselves  for  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Silence!  They're  coming.  ...  Ah!  If  they 
could  only  escape. 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  and  LA  VOISIN 

hide  themselves  in  a  dark  corner  near  the 

statue  of  the  Virgin.] 

[Some  GENTLEMEN  rusk  in  from  both  sides 


84  The    Montespan 

of  the  gallery,  and  lean  out  of  the  windows 
to  see  what  is  going  on.  Outside,  the  tumult 
redoubles.  ] 

THE  GENTLEMEN 
— It's  here  in  the  court. 
— What  is  it? 

— Some  blackguards  they  are  chasing,  two  women 
and  a  man. 

— What  have  they  done? 

— They  say  they  are  sorcerers.     They  came  out 
of  the  palace. 

— The  palace?     We  will  learn  fine  things  tomor- 
row. 

— They  are  running  like  hares.  Look  at  that  fat 
priest  with  his  short  legs.  How  he  trots  along 
the  court  with  the  spies  at  his  heels!  The  im- 
becile will  let  himself  be  cornered.  Look,  I  told 
you  so!  There  he  is,  driven  into  the  corner! 
Well!  What's  he  doing?  He's  snatching  a 
cudgel  from  a  lackey!  He's  belaboring  them 
with  blows!  Zounds!  What  a  fist!  They 
don't  dare  advance! 
— Bravo ! 

— The  Swiss  is  going  to  run  him  through  with  his 
pike. 


The    Montespan  85 

— Yes !  .  .  .  No !  .  .  .  What  a  ferocious  beast ! 
He's  throwing  them  down.  .  .  .  He's  climbing 
up  the  scaffolding.  There's  a  madman !  They're 
climbing  after  him;  but  he's  more  agile;  he's  gain- 
ing, he's  ahead;  he's  on  the  edge  of  the  roof. 
He's  going  to  escape! 

— The  musketeer  below  is  loading  his  gun.     He's 
aiming.     Well,  what's  he  waiting  for? 
— Shoot,  shoot,  you  fool! 
[A  shot  is  heard.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  and  LA  VOISIN 
[Having  followed  this  conversation  without 
seeing  the  speakers,  with  an  anguish  which 
underlines  every  'detail,  seize  each  other  by 
the  hand} 
My  God !     Let  him  be  killed ! 

[Outside,  an  uproar  of  cries  and  laughs.} 

THE  GENTLEMEN 

—Hit!     He's  sliding,  he's  falling! 
— Bang !     What  a  tumble ! 
— Is  he  dead  ? 

[After  a  moment} 

— No,  he's  moving.     Hear  him  yell. 
— Let's  go  and  see.  .  .  . 

[They  go  out  precipitately} 


86  The    Montespan 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  and  LA  VOISIN 
run  to  the  window,  hastily,  fearfully] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
He's  caught,  they're  carrying  him  off. 

LA  VOISIN 
It's  over. 

[Sinks  to  the  ground. ,] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

This  hubbub  will  waken  the  King.     In  a  moment 
he'll  know  all.     And  Fontanges,  Fontanges,  what 
joy  for1  her  tomorrow!     Ah!  .  .  .  You  have  sor- 
ceries !     Do  something,  come  on ! 
[Shakes  LA  VOISIN.] 

LA  VOISIN 

I  can't.     The   Master   is  tired.     He  has   gone 
away. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Force  him  to  obey  you ! 

LA  VOISIN 
[With  fatalism}     He  is  the  Master. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Let  us  fly,  then. 


The    Montespan  87 

LA  VOISIN 

What's  the  good?     They  will  take  us  again  to- 
morrow.    When  the  Master  abandons  you,  there 
is  nothing  more  to  do.     We  are  lost. 
[Weeps.] 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Cease  your  wails.     What's  the  use  of  groaning? 

LA  VOISIN 
Do  you  consider  the  tortures  that  await  me? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Since  you  were  born,  haven't  you  been  doomed 
to  the  stake? 

LA  VOISIN 

It  isn't  the  same  thing  to  risk  death,  and  to  see  it 
before  one's  eyes. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Coward ! 

LA  VOISIN 

It's  easy  for  you  to  talk.  You  don't  risk  any- 
thing, people  of  your  sort.  They  burn  the  beg- 
gars; but  the  great  escape.  They  don't  dare 
strike  them. 


The    Montespan 


MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

For  people  of  our  sort  there  are  tortures  worse 
than  those  of  the  executioner. 

LA  VOISIN 
What? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
To  be  vanquished ! 

LA  VOISIN 
What's  that,  compared  to  red-hot  pincers'? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Ah!  If  a  piece  of  red-hot  iron  could  suffice  to 
blot  out  shame! 

LA  VOISIN 

Those  are  mere  words.  You  will  be  allowed  to 
retire  to  your  chateau  in  the  country,  you'll  say  a 
few  devotions  to  rest  your  soul,  and  continue  to 
eat  fatly,  sleep  in  good  beds,  and  have  yourself 
caressed  by  your  lovers;  while  I  ... 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Do  you  think  I'll  resign  myself,  leave  the  field 
free  and  let  this  girl  take  my  place"?  .  .  .  Fly? 
.  .  .  Never!  Who  spoke  of  retiring?  Yes,  a 
moment  ago.  .  .  .  Now  everything  is  changed. 
One  can  retreat  voluntarily,  the  victor.  But 


The    Montespan  89 

vanquished,  scorned,  to  fly  before  their  jeers,  to 
collapse  beneath  their  outrages!  I  would  die, 
rather  than  yield. 

LA  VOISIN 

Pooh!  I  know  you:  you'll  come  to  an  under- 
standing, you'll  compromise.  Besides — if  you  do 
die,  what's  that  to  me?  You  do  it  for  your 
pleasure;  no  one  forces  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You  are  too  vile  to  comprehend  what  a  soul  like 
mine  can  suffer. 

LA  VOISIN 

So  much  the  better!  You  can  never  suffer  too 
much. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Why  do  you  hate  me*? 

LA  VOISIN 

I  don't  hate  you.  But  I  suffer  less  when  I  know 
I  have  company. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Wouldn't  it  lessen  your  pain  if  you  could  revenge 
yourself  on  your  enemies? 


go  The    Montespan 

LA  VOISIN 

Yes. — But  how*?  And  whom  to  strike?  I  have 
nothing  but  enemies.  If  I  should  wreak  venge- 
ance on  two  or  three,  there  would  always  be 
others.  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

But  if  instead  of  striking  a  few  nobodies,  one 
should  go  straight  to  those  who  are  worth  millions 
of  men? 

LA  VOISIN 
Whom? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
If  one  should  strike  .  .  .   ? 

LA  VOISIN 

[In  a  low  voice] 
The  King? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Yes. 

[A  short  silence.] 

LA  VOISIN 
What  you  propose,  my  daughter,  is  terrible. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  won't  have  him  survive  his  scorn  for  me. 


The    Montespan  91 

LA  VOISIN 
Kill  the  King! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
You  tremble? 

LA  VOISIN 

It's  nothing.  ...  As  all  is  lost,  it  would  be  well 
to  finish  there.  But  do  you  realize  what  awaits 
us  afterwards,  the  tortures? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
There  are  always  ways  of  escaping  from  life. 

LA  VOISIN 

How  do  you  wish  him  to  be  struck? 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

In  the  morning,  when  he  works,  he  usually  takes 
a  glass  of  rossolis. 

LA  VOISIN 

Good!  Legros  and  Bertrand  watch  over  his 
drinks.  I  know  them.  They  will  put  in  what's 
necessary. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Do  it  quickly,  lest  my  will  go  back  on  me ! 


92  The    Montespan 

LA  VOISIN 

Be  easy,  I  will  serve  him  like  a  king.  And  Fon- 
tanges? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I'll  take  care  of  her. 

[LA  VOISIN  exits.] 

The  thunder  growls  in  my  temples.  ...  I  want 
to  stop.  .  .  .  No ! — Forward !  O  God !  Where 
are  you  leading  me?  .  .  . 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 
SCENE  I 

The  KING'S  study.  Louis  XIV  is  seated  before 
a  large  table.  Louvois,  seated  on  the  other  side, 
is  reading.  There  is  a  flagon  of  wine  on  a  small 
round  table  a  few  feet  from  the  KING,  and  a 
praying-desk  in  a  corner,  before  a  -picture  of 
Christ  on  the  cross. 
Time:  The  following  morning. 

Louvois 

Your  Majesty  seems  preoccupied.  Shall  I  in- 
terrupt my  report  and  return  this  evening1? 

THE  KING 
No,  Monsieur,  continue, — go  on  to  the  end. 

Louvois 

In  conformance  with  Your  Majesty's  orders, 
Baron  Montclar  entered  Strasbourg  on  Wednes- 
day. There  was  no  resistance.  No  one  expected 
his  arrival.  The  gates  were  open,  the  ramparts 

93 


94  The    Montespan 

bare  of  cannon.  The  Marshall  ordered  the  de- 
cree of  the  Sovereign  Chamber  of  Brisach,  an- 
nexing Strasbourg  to  France,  to  be  read  on  the 
public  common.  Everything  took  place  in  per- 
fect order  and  without  a  protest.  We  had  merely 
to  hang  three  or  four  rascals  who  were  making  a 
scandal,  as  an  example.  This  conquest  renders 
Your  Majesty  definitely  master  of  all  Alsace  and 
closes  the  Kingdom  forever  to  the  barbarians. 
"Clausa  Germanis  Gallia!" — At  the  same  time 
the  news  I  receive  from  Italy  leads  me  to  believe 
that  Monsieur  de  Catinat  will  enter  Cascal  to- 
day. Thus  continues  that  conquest  of  the  world 
in  full  peace  time,  which  strikes  Your  Majesty's 
enemies  dumb,  and  shall  be  the  admiration  of 
centuries  to  come. 

THE  KING 

You  will  give  orders,  Monsieur,  that  a  "Te 
Deum"  be  sung  in  all  the  churches  of  France. 
We  must  offer  to  God  what  belongs  to  Him. 
Our  glory  is  His.  It  is  for  Him  that  we  conquer. 

Louvois 

Your  Majesty's  greatness  lies  in  this:  that  the 
cause  of  God  is  allied  to  yours.  What  is  God's 
is  the  King's. 


The    Montespan  95 

THE  KING 

Mine,  Monsieur?  There  are  moments  when  I 
ask  myself  if  any  thing  belongs  to  me,  except  my- 
self. My  armies  conquer  Europe  yet  I  am  not 
even  master  of  what  I  see,  hardly  of  what  I  touch. 

[He  t ouches  mechanically  the  table  with  the 

flagon.] 

Louvois 

Your  Majesty  must  be  overwhelmed  with  some 
profound  sorrow;  for  it  is  the  first  time  I  have 
heard  you  express  yourself  so  bitterly. 

THE  KING 

I  know  the  baseness  of  human  nature,  when  de- 
prived of  the  help  of  God,  it  is  left  to  itself.  It 
needs  some  inflexible  power  to  constantly  repress 
its  savage  instincts.  I  saw  in  my  childhood,  dur- 
ing that  troublous  time  when  subjects  dared  to 
rebel  against  the  throne,  the  aberrations  of  men 
who  want  to  dispense  with  a  master.  But  I 
thought  twenty  years  of  noble  discipline  had  suc- 
ceeded in  killing  these  germs  of  folly.  I  can't 
hide  my  astonishment  upon  learning  by  this 
shameful  affair  of  poisoners  and  sorcerers  that 
beneath  the  apparent  brilliance  of  my  prosperity, 


the  plague  continues  to  ripen.  Why,  the  mud  has 
been  mounting  to  the  very  steps  of  my  throne ! 

Louvois 

These  are  passing  crises:  the  most  flourishing 
reigns  cannot  escape  them.  As  long  as  a  people 
remains  young  it  must  sow  its  wild  oats.  It  is 
necessary  to  provide  a  vast  field  for  its  energy, 
where  its  overflowing  spirits  can  have  an  outlet; 
and  then  one  should  keep  it  constantly  on  the 
alert. 

THE  KING 

The  idleness  of  Versailles  has  its  dangers,  no 
doubt,  for  these  ardent  spirits  who  have  need  of 
action;  but  experience  has  shown  that  these  same 
people  would  be  a  far  greater  danger  to  the 
armies;  for  they  have  at  their  disposal  a  force 
which  would  corrupt  the  soldiers.  Moreover,  the 
evil  has  gone  too  deep  for  it  to  be  possible  to 
cure  it  with  ordinary  means.  The  whole  court 
is  infected.  Every  day  the  venom  spreads. 

Louvois 

We  must  make  two  or  three  resounding  strokes 
and  then  hush  it  up.  Example  is  efficacious  with 
the  common  herd.  But  it  isn't  by  bagging  a  few 


The    Montespan  97 

of  these  wretches  that  we  will  succeed  in  reach- 
ing public  opinion.  We  must  go  straight  to  the 
head*)  without  regard  for  the  lustre  of  names,  or 
services  rendered;  not  only  is  a  great  lord  who  is 
guilty,  guiltier  than  a  commoner,  but  his  chastise- 
ment is  more  profitable,  on  account  of  its  noto- 
riety. 

THE  KING 

Your  advice  is  in  accord  with  my  own  thoughts, 
but  a  thousand  reasons  arise  in  me  to  combat  my 
reason,  and  hold  it  in  suspense.  I  see  myself 
stopped  by  considerations  of  family  and  senti- 
ment, which  these  crimes  have  not  yet  been  able 
to  completely  efface  from  my  mind. 

Louvois 

It  would  be  most  proper  of  Your  Majesty  to  sup- 
press your  natural  kindness  if  the  public  interest 
demands  it. 

THE  KING 

Madame  de  Montespan  touches  you  aiso  very 
nearly:  you  have  affianced  one  of  vour  daughters 
to  her  nephew. 

Louvois 

What,  Sire,  it  is  Madame  de  Montespan  who  is 
in  question? 


98  The    Montespan 

THE  KING 

Last  night  they  arrested  three  poisoners  who  were 
leaving  the  palace;  these  people  accused  Madame 
de  Montespan  of  having  taken  part  in  their 
crimes. 

Louvois 

Eh,  Sire,  what  guarantee  does  the  word  of  such 
scoundrels  offer? 

THE  KING 
Monsieur  de  la  Reynie  seems  to  believe  in  it. 

Louvois 

The  magistrate  is  obsessed.  He  sees  criminals 
everywhere.  It's  a  mania  common  to  his  species. 
After  twenty  years  in  office  they  are  totally  in- 
capable of  seeing  things  as  they  are.  Their  dark 
and  distorted  imaginations  substitute  bad  novels 
for  reality,  where  the  stiletto,  poison,  and  all  the 
artifices  of  a  base  literature  take  the  place  of 
human  motives. 

THE  KING 

You  will  see  him  yourself.     I  gave  orders  for  him 
to  wait  upon  me  in  the  next  room  as  soon  as  he  has 
any  new  revelations.     See  if  he  is  there. 
[Louvois  opens  the  door.] 


The    Montespan  99 

Louvois 
Sire,  he  is  here. 

THE  KINO 

Kindly  ask  him  to  come  in. 
[Enter  LA  REYNIE.] 

[SCENE  II:     The  KING,  Louvois  and  LA  REY- 
NIE.] 

THE  KING 

[To  LA  REYNIE]  Well,  Monsieur,  did  they  con- 
firm their  confessions? 

LA  REYNIE 

Sire,  I  am  overwhelmed  with  what  I  have  just 
heard.  It  is  in  fear  and  trembling  that  I  dare  re- 
port it  to  Your  Majesty. 

[Silence.] 

[The  KING  bows  his  head,  and  makes  a  sign 

to  LA  REYNIE  to  speak.] 

An  hour  ago  we  laid  hands  on  the  most  dangerous 
criminal,  the  woman  Voisin,  who  has  either  di- 
rected or  conceived  every  one  of  these  atrocities. 
She  came  out  of  the  palace  impudently  enough, 
without  even  trying  to  hide  herself.  When  ar- 
rested, she  volunteered  with  frightening  calm,  a 
full  confession. 


1OO 


THE  KING 
She  too  involves  the  Marquise  de  Montespan*? 

LA  REYNIE 

She  accuses  her  of  more  terrible  things  than  any 
of  the  others. 

Louvois 

Those  are  the  usual  tactics  of  these  rascals:  they 
defend  themselves  by  accusing  others. 

LA  REYNIE 

They  questioned  her  again  before  me.  She  not 
only  repeated  her  statements,  but  made  them  even 
more  damning. 

Louvois 

One  must  torture  people  of  that  kind  to  prevent 
them  from  speaking,  not  to  force  them  to.  Their 
natural  perversity  inclines  them  only  too  readily 
to  lie  and  defame. 

LA  REYNIE 

Do  you  believe,  Monseigneur,  that  an  old  magis- 
trate like  myself  would  be  so  lacking  in  caution 
as  to  accept  without  verification  the  denunciations 
of  a  criminal,  above  all  when  they  attack  what  is 


101 


most  sacred  in  the  world*?  I  would  be  more 
criminal  than  she  if  I  did  not  take  care  to  con- 
firm everyone  of  her  assertions.  I  had  Madame 
la  Marquise's  women  questioned:  all  the  testi- 
monies accord  with  those  of  the  woman  Voisin. 

Louvois 

Let  us  not  forget,  Monsieur,  that  the  Marquise 
has  been  gravely  ill  for  several  weeks,  and  that 
there  is  reason  to  attribute  to  this  morbid  state 
the  acts  of  which  she  has  been  accused. 

LA  REYNIE 

Alas !  I  would  have  been  only  to  happy  to  find 
this  excuse.  Unfortunately  the  incriminating 
facts  go  much  further  back  than  these  last  few 
months.  She  has  been  engaging  in  these  practises 
for  fifteen  years.  She  had  hardly  arrived  at 
court,  when  we  see  her  have  recourse  to  sorceries 
in  order  to  win  Your  Majesty's  favor.  She  was 
already  at  that  time  in  relations  with  the  woman 
Voisin,  who  furnished  her  with  philtres  and  poi- 
sons. These  powders,  composed  of  obnoxious  in- 
gredients were  on  different  occasions  mixed  with 
Your  Majesty's  food;  and  the  doctors  were  able 
to  ascertain  with  me  that  the  nefarious  attempts 
coincided  each  time  with  Your  Majesty's  ill- 


1O2          The    Montespan 

nesses.  That  isn't  all.  At  the  church  of  Saint- 
Severin,  at  the  Chateau  of  Villebousin,  at  Ver- 
sailles itself,  Madame  de  Montespan  and  her  ac- 
complices gave  themselves  up  to  criminal  conjura- 
tions to  make  the  Queen  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Valliere  die.  Finally,  the  Marquise's  fury  has 
augmented  day  by  day  with  her  power  and  the 
fear  of  losing  it.  My  mouth  refuses  to  describe 
the  horror  of  the  crimes  into  which  this  unfortu- 
nate being  has  fallen:  only  last  night  in  the 
chapel,  lying  nude  upon  the  altar,  the  holy  sacri- 
fice celebrated  on  her  body,  the  august  host  con- 
secrated with  human  blood.  .  .  .  Sire,  I  cease 
and  conclude,  penetrated  with  fear  and  grief:  it 
is  necessary  to  arrest  the  Marquise  de  Montespan 
at  once. 

Louvois 

Impossible.  The  Marquise  is  not  an  ordinary 
woman.  One  cannot  touch  her  without  hurting 
the  State. 

LA  REYNIE 

The  State  is  very  much  more  hurt  by  her  crimes. 
If  they  are  not  punished,  nothing  can  be  pun- 
ished. 

Louvois 
The  scandal  will  be  worse  than  the  crimes  them- 


103 


selves.  Think  of  the  fame  of  this  affair  through- 
out Europe.  What  joy  for  the  nations  that  hate 
us  and  await  indefatigably  the  occasion  to  pre- 
cipitate Your  Majesty  from  your  glory! 

LA  REYNIE 

There  is  more  danger  that  the  revelations  will 
come  first  from  our  enemies.  Such  criminal  at- 
tempts cannot  remain  secret  long.  Let  us  fore- 
stall rumor  and  let  Europe  learn  at  the  same  time 
of  the  crime  and  the  punishment. 

Louvois 

I  admire,  Monsieur,  the  ease  with  which  you  re- 
sign yourself  to  an  act  that  rends  the  heart  of 
him  whose  happiness  it  is  our  duty  to  guard. 

LA  REYNIE 

Monsieur,  one  should  not  shirk  a  duty  because  it  is 
painful  to  fulfill.  I  believe  that  an  honest  man 
should  accomplish  it  as  a  matter  of  pride,  and  all 
the  more  so  if  it  costs  him  more.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  have  reached  this  opinion  without  strug- 
gles'? Sire,  must  I  tell  you  of  the  torments  I  en- 
dured last  night?  While  that  poor  wretch  was 
submitting  to  the  question,  my  heart  submitted 


104          The    Montespan 

to  it  with  her;  each  one  of  her  confessions  was 
like  a  dagger-thrust.  I  found  myself  suddenly 
the  possessor  of  a  terrible  secret,  upon  which  the 
State  depended;  and  I  saw  an  equal  danger  in 
suppressing  and  in  spreading  it.  I  knew  what  a 
misfortune  it  might  be  for  the  kingdom;  but  I 
also  knew  that  in  keeping  it  to  myself  I  was  in- 
juring the  supreme  kingdom  of  Justice.  Sire,  I 
knew  how  I  would  have  to  pierce  your  heart ;  but 
I  knew  that  I  was  forbidden  to  spare  it,  that  this 
was  a  matter  of  your  honor.  Ah,  Sire,  this  noble 
office  of  Defender  of  the  Law,  that  I  was  so  proud 
of  having  received  from  you,  how  much,  since 
yesterday,  have  I  not  suffered  from  its  oppressive 
distinction!  I  felt  myself  on  the  point  of  re- 
nouncing it,  of  begging  Your  Majesty  to  relieve 
me  of  a  task  that  I  was  no  longer  able  to  fulfill, 
I  knew  no  longer  where  my  duty  lay.  I  prayed 
to  God,  I  besought  Him  to  enlighten  me,  to  make 
me  forget  my  personality,  to  speak  in  my  place; 
and  He  answered  me  that  I  should  not  thrust 
upon  others  a  dangerous  duty,  but  should  accom- 
plish it  myself,  in  spite  of  my  heart,  whatever 
it  might  cost  me,  for  the  honor  of  Justice,  and 
the  glory  of  Your  Majesty. 

[  Very  much  moved,  he  throws  himself  at  the 


The    Montespan          105 

feet  of  the  KING,  who,  equally  moved,  mo- 
tions to  him  to  rise.} 

Louvois 

A  miserable  glory,  Monsieur   that  toward  which 
you  are  working! 

LA  REYNIE 

{Getting  up  proudly} 
One  must  be  great,  not  appear  so ! 

[MME.  DE  MONTESPAN  enters,  and  advances 
impetuously  towards  the  KING.  Louvois 
and  LA  REYNIE  start  with  surprise.} 

[SCENE  III:     The  KING,  MADAME  DE  MONTES- 
PAN.] 

THE  KING 

{Rising,  startled  and  irritated} 
Madame  de  Montespan ! 

[He  motions  with  his  hand  to  Louvois  and 

LA   REYNIE,  who  bow  and  retire  without 

speaking. } 

Who  has  authorized  you,  Madam,  to  come  with- 
out having  been  sent  for? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
My  rights  have  authorized  me ! 


io6 


THE  KING 
You  have  none  here,  any  longer. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
They  don't  depend  on  you. 

THE  KING 
You  had  none  except  through  me. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  have  conquered  them,  and  I  will  keep  them. 

THE  KING 
Do  you  dare  in  such  a  moment  .  .  .   ? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

The  moment  is  truly  grave  for  both  of  us.  If  I 
come,  it  is  not  only  because  of  my  honor  which  is 
attacked, — it  is  a  remnant  of  affection  that  brings 
me :  take  care  what  you  do.  Let  us  not,  either  of 
us,  say  irremediable  things.  Let  us  both  control 
ourselves. 

THE  KING 

I  think  I  must  be  dreaming  when  I  hear  this  im- 
perious language.  It  is  you  who  threaten*? 


The    Montespan          107 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

My  pride  warns  yours.  A  greater  danger  has 
never  menaced  us. 

THE  KING 
Do  you  forget  that  your  crimes  are  known  to  me? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

So  much  the  better !  I  don't  need  to  confess  them 
to  you. 

THE  KING 

Is  it  true  then1?  These  poisons,  these  sorceries, 
these  atrocious  and  despicable  crimes,  they  are 
your  work? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Our  work,  Sire.     Yours  and  mine. 

THE  KING 

Are  you  losing  your  senses'?  What  do  you  dare 
to  say"? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  say  that  if  I  have  dishonored  myself,  soiled  my- 
self with  every  sort  of  crime,  it  is  because  you  have 
forced  me  to  it.  Your  ingratitude,  your  lust, 


io8          The    Montespan 

your  egotism  have  driven  me  to  extremes.  It's 
been  a  pleasure  to  you  to  make  me  desperate. 
For  fifteen  years  there  hasn't  been  a  day  when 
my  mind  could  rest  with  confidence  in  yours;  not 
one,  when  I  hadn't  constantly  to  struggle  in  or- 
der not  to  be  destroyed  by  you.  For  you  it  was 
merely  the  game  of  a  bored  and  capricious  tyrant 
whose  pleasure  it  was  to  take  away  with  one 
hand  what  he  gave  with  the  other,  to  threaten  my 
rights,  to  bait  my  pride.  You  drove  me  frantic. 
I  had  to  defend  myself.  I  did  it  with  crimes. 
Let  them  fall  on  your  own  head. 

THE  KING 

But  what  do  I  owe  you,  Madam?  I  took  you 
from  the  country,  and  showered  you  with  favors. 
Nothing  equaled  your  insignificance,  unless  it 
was  your  ambition.  For  fifteen  years  I  have 
gorged  this  ambition  of  yours  with  possessions 
and  honors.  A  swarm  of  effeminate  relations, 
debtors,  and  intriguers  have  fattened  on  my  fa- 
vors. Nothing  belongs  to  you,  not  even  the  shirt 
on  your  back.  What  are  you,  to  demand  any- 
thing of  me*? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Your  wife. 


109 


THE  KING 
The  Queen  is  my  wife. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Don't  be  absurd !  That  idiotic  old  Spaniard  who 
spends  her  days  with  her  confessors  and  her  dogs ! 
What  has  she  in  common  with  you,  but  the  bed 
now  and  then,  when  I  permit  it,  in  the  interest 
of  the  State ! — It  is  I  who  am  the  Queen.  I  have 
shared  all  your  thoughts.  Your  ministers,  your 
generals  have  conferred  with  me.  You  consulted 
me  on  your  most  secret  affairs.  My  decision  was 
worth  half  yours. 

THE  KING 

It's  true.     You  owe  me  everything. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Do  you  forget  my  passionate  love  of  your  fame? 
I  have  watched  over  it  more  jealously  than  you. 
To  make  you  great  was  my  ardent  and  incessant 
desire.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  have  sacri- 
ficed to  accomplish  it.  I  was  your  will-power, 
always  on  the  alert,  with  never  a  moment's  rest 
until  you  should  arrive  at  the  top.  Under  me, 


no          The    Montespan 

vanquished  Europe  has  submitted  to  the  laws 
which  you  have  pleased  to  dictate.  France  shines 
with  fortune  and  power.  I  have  taken  nothing 
from  you  that  I  haven't  returned  a  thousand-fold. 

THE  KING 

Your  monstrous  vanity  blinds  you,  Madam:  you 
did  nothing  except  through  me.  You  exist  by 
my  pleasure.  What  I  have  done  I  can  undo. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You  were  able  to  give  a  great  mind  the  chance 
of  becoming  conscious  of  its  greatness.  No  one 
is  able  to  take  away  this  consciousness. 

THE  KING 

I  have  had  greater  servants  than  you,  Madam. 
When  it  has  pleased  me  to  have  them  go,  they 
have  quietly  bowed  and  left. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Yes,  your  discipline  has  succeeded  marvellously 
in  domesticating  souls.  Versailles  is  peopled 
with  valets. — But  my  spirit  is  of  another  kind  and 
thinks  to  do  you  honor  when  it  claims  from  you 
the  independence  of  the  woman  you  have  loved. 


The    Montespan  ill 

THE  KING 
[Drily]     I  love  you  no  longer. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Well !     I  have  never  loved  you. 

THE  KING 

[Piqued]     Spite  is  making  you  lose  your  temper. 
I  remember  your  protestations  of  love. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
I  love  the  King,  not  you. 

THE  KING 
You  are  very  bold  to  tell  me  so. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  tell  you  what  you  ought  to  know,  if  you  would 
only  consent  to  brush  aside  the  thick  cloud  of 
flattery  which  blinds  and  stupefies  you.  It  is 
Royalty  that  creates  your  beauty  and  your  virtues. 
Who  loves  you  for  yourself? 

THE  KING 

This  is  too  much ;  I  have  borne  too  long  your  am- 
bition, your  violence,  that  nasty  mood  of  yours 
which  attacks  everything  it  pleases  me  to  like  and 


112          The    Montespan 

distinguish  at  court.  Can't  you  realize  what  it 
has  cost  me,  to  endure  near  me  a  woman  like  you, 
whose  every  movement  reveals  her  inherent 
coarseness:  that  raucous  Italian  voice,  those  com- 
mon gestures,  that  odor  of  the  antechamber  which 
you  drag  after  you,  that  need  of  low  words,  which 
flow  out  of  your  mouth  like  a  muddy  river,  all 
that  vulgarity  which  you  sweat  out  of  every  pore, 
the  madness,  in  short,  of  a  debauched  nature,  that 
shows  its  baseness  even  in  love,  which  it  vilifies ! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Very  likely  I'm  all  that  and  more !  But  at  least 
I  don't  smell  as  bad  as  you.  Hasn't  your  new 
mistress  told  you?  .  .  .  Look  at  yourself  and 
judge  yourself,  with  your  bald  red  head,  decayed 
teeth,  your  ulcers  and  gout,  your  heartlessness  and 
lack  of  conversation !  Do  you  think  a  woman  like 
myself  hasn't  suffered  from  you,  and  that  I 
haven't  greater  merit  in  enduring  you,  than  you 
have  in  bearing  my  vices?  I  have  silenced  my 
repugnance,  the  revolt  of  body  and  soul,  and  the 
overwhelming  boredom  which  stifled  me  in  your 
presence,  in  order  to  see  only  the  grandeur  of  the 
King,  and  the  hard-won  fame  in  the  task  to  which 
you  were  consecrated. — You  say  my  company  has 


The    Montespan          113 

weighed  on  you.  .  .  .  Good  God!  What  was 
yours  to  me!  Were  you  so  infatuated  with  the 
pompous  disposal  of  your  favors  that  you  didn't 
feel  the  aversion  of  my  flesh  for  yours?  Your 
kisses  made  me  sick,  my  senses  bellowed  with 
disgust.  But  I  hate  you,  I  hate  you!  I  have 
hated  you  for  fifteen  years!  Don't  you  under- 
stand? 

THE  KING 

[Overwhelmed]  What!  Such  hate,  such  blind 
fury  in  a  being  I  have  loaded  with  my  favors, 
who  protested  she  loved  me!  .  .  .  Great  Heav- 
ens! Whom  to  believe  in  now? — I  thank  you, 
Madam,  for  having  finally  enlightened  me  upon 
your  sentiments  for  me.  You  have  just  pro- 
nounced your  own  sentence.  In  a  moment  you 
will  be  arrested. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You  won't  dare.  You  can't  strike  me  without 
striking  yourself. 

THE  KING 

Nothing  attaches  me  to  you  any  longer.  You 
are  alone,  you  have  no  ties.  A  word  from  me  is 
enough, — and  I  will  say  it, — for  Justice  to  take 
you  to  account  for  all  your  crimes. 


114          The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

I  am  attached  to  the  throne  by  indestructible  ties : 
my  six  children. 

THE  KING 
When  Justice  speaks,  blood  is  silent. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Oh,  it  isn't  your  affection  for  them  that  will  de- 
ter you,  I  know,  since  you  love  nothing  but  your- 
self; it's  your  pride.  Every  blow  that  strikes 
me  will  strike  you  six  times  over. 

THE  KING 

These  innocents  are  not  responsible  for  your  de- 
pravity. Your  children  are  no  longer  yours.  I 
shall  take  them  from  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

You  can't.  They  are  marked  forever  with  my 
name  and  yours.  All  your  protestations  will  only 
serve  to  publish  abroad  the  part  of  my  shame  that 
falls  to  their  lot.  I  defy  you  to  hurt  me  with- 
out hurting  them. 

THE  KING 
Very  well,  I  will  strike  them,  yes,  I  will  break 


The    M  o  n  t  e  s  p  a  n          115 

them  if  need  be,  rather  than  not  to  break  your 
rebellious  pride. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

All  right,  let  them  be  dishonored  with  me,  then, 
provided  you  have  your  part  in  our  ignominy ! 

[MARIE-AUBE,  who  has  come  in  a  few  sec- 
onds before  without  being  seen  by  the  KING 
or  MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN,  throws  herself 
on  her  knees  before  them,  stretching  out  her 
arms.] 

[SCENE  IV:     The  KING,  MADAME  DE  MONTES- 
PAN, MARIE-AUBE.] 

MARIE-AUBE 
Spare  us ! 

THE  KING 
My  daughter! 

[He  goes  toward  her.] 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Seizing  his  hand} 

What  have  I  done  to  you  *?     You  hate  me !     You 
want  to  ruin  me ! 

THE  KING 
Here  is  your  victim,  Madam! 


ii6          The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
It  is  you  who  strike  her. 

THE  KING 

[To  MARIE-AUBE]  Come,  don't  cry,  my  dear. 
You  are  punished  for  your  curiosity.  How  did 
you  get  in? 

MARIE-AUBE 

Ah !  Sire,  I  knew  you  were  angry  with  each  other, 
I  was  afraid.  Please  forgive  each  other. 

THE  KING 

It  doesn't  concern  you.  Go  back  to  your  room, 
Mademoiselle.  Your  place  is  not  here. 

MARIE-AUBE 

Don't  send  me  away!  Where  shall  I  go  if  you 
repulse  me*?  The  only  place  I  have  is  in  your 
arms.  I  have  no  other  family,  no  friends,  I  have 
only  you,  I  love  you  both.  If  you  are  enemies, 
you  will  destroy  me,  I  can't  live ! 

THE  KING 

You  have  heard  things  you  should  never  have 
known.  I  would  have  liked  to  spare  you.  But 
since  the  evil  is  done,  try  to  forget  it,  and  believe 
that  your  father  loves  you. 


The    Montespan          117 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Of  what  use  is  it  to  surround  oneself  with  lies'? 
It  only  victimizes  people  in  the  end.  Better  to 
rend  your  heart  and  see  the  world  as  it  is:  life's 
ferocity,  the  baseness  of  mankind.  Look  at  us, 
despise  us,  and  try  to  do  better. 

THE  KING 
Eh,  Madam,  you  will  kill  her. 

MARIE-AUBE 

Oh,  why  'did  you  make  me  live  then  if  life  is  like 
this?  I  am  not  strong  enough.  You  love  the 
fight  so  much  that  you  find  a  savor  even  in  hate 
and  scorn.  But  they  overwhelm  me.  I  need  to 
love,  to  respect  .  .  .  and  I  can't  any  more,  I  can't 
any  more !  Ah !  Sire,  what  a  dreary  present  you 
gave  me !  And  you  too,  Madam !  Why  did  you 
love  each  other*?  Was  it  just,  that  you  should 
have  condemned  me  to  this  anguish,  merely  for 
your  amusement  and  ambition*? 

[She  weeps  at  the  feet  of  the  KING.  The 
KING  and  MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  remain 
a  moment,  mute  and  overcome.  MA- 
DAME DE  MONTESPAN  leans  over  MARIE- 


ii8          The    Montespan 

AUBE  to  console  her.  MARIE-AUBE  on  her 
knees,  hides  her  face  in  her  mother's  dress 
without  releasing  the  hand  of  the  KING,  who 
looks  at  her  with  pity.] 

THE  KING 
What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  my  daughter*? 

MARIE-AUBE 
Forgive  her! 

THE  KING 

It  doesn't  concern  me  alone.     Fortunately  you 
don't  know  what  has  happened. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Yes,  I  know  .  .  . 

THE  KING 
You  know  what  your  mother  has  done? 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Troubled}     No,  Sire,  I  am  wrong,  I  don't  know, 

I  don't  know  anything.  .  .  . 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  instinctively 
draws  away  from  her  daughter.] 

THE  KING 

I  can  sacrifice  my  natural  resentments.     I  cannot 
sacrifice  Justice. 


The    Montespan          119 

MARIE-AUBE 
Pronounce  in  its  place ! 

THE  KINO 

Well,  for  your  sake,  Marie,  I  will  consent  to 
save  her  from  her  judges,  but  she  must  chastise 
herself,  she  must  leave  the  court  at  once  and  re- 
tire to  a  convent. 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Eagerly]  Oh,  Sire,  is  that  all?  And  will  you 
pardon  her  if  she  obeys? 

THE  KINO 
Perhaps,  some  day, — we  shall  see. 

MARIE-AUBE 
She  will  do  it,  Sire,  she  has  promised  me. 

THE  KING 
You  have  promised  your  daughter,  Madam? 

MARIE-AUBE 

She  wanted  to  leave,  herself.  Isn't  it  true,  Ma- 
dam, that  you  told  me  so? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
It  is  true.     I  had  promised  this  child:  last  night 


12O         The    Montespan 

I  had  decided  to  go ;  but  I  wanted  to  do  so  freely, 
my  head  high,  by  my  will  not  yours.  To-day 
everything  has  changed,  you  are  turning  me  out. 
I  cannot  descend  to  such  base  submission.  I  will 
remain. 

THE  KING 

Then  let  Justice  take  you! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Let  it  take  me !  It  will  hear  some  strange  revela- 
tions. 

THE  KINO 
Is  your  soul  hardened  to  all  shame? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

The  worst  shame  is  that  of  the  dog,  cringing  un- 
der the  blows. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Mother,  have  pity  on  us  and  on  yourself! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Don't  look  at  me  with  those  grieving  eyes !  They 
follow  me  like  remorse. 

MARIE-AUBE 
You  promised  me.     You  gave  me  your  word, 


The    Montespan          121 

Madam.  Do  you  want  me  not  to  believe  in  you 
any  more?  Oh!  I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  will 
die  if  you  too  have  deceived  me. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Be  quiet,  don't  ask  me  anything:  I  couldn't  re- 
fuse you.  Don't  be  the  accomplice  of  my  en- 
emies ! 

MARIE-AUBE 

Please,  please,  I  want  it,  you  must!  .  .  . 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[To  the  KING]  You  win.  This  innocent  girl 
is  the  instrument  of  your  despotism.  I  can't  re- 
sist her  sad  and  tender  looks.  I  will  go  if  she 
wishes,  if  you  say  the  word.  Take  care,  don't 
say  it;  for  the  last  time  I  warn  you.  Don't  push 
me  to  the  brink!  The  abyss  is  near. 

THE  KINO 

[In  a  hard  tone}  You  will  go  to  your  estates; 
you  will  not  leave  them  within  a  radius  of  ten 
miles.  You  will  not  see  any  of  your  children, 
except  as  a  last  indulgence,  Mademoiselle  de 
Blois,  who  will  have  permission  to  visit  you  fif- 
teen days  a  year.  You  will  remain  there  till  your 
death  praying  and  imploring  the  mercy  of  God. 


122          The    Montespan 

MARIE-AUBE 
[Imploring]     Sire!  .  .  . 

THE  KING 
It  is  my  decree. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Then  may  Destiny  take  its  course! 

MARIE-AUBE 

Sire,  won't  you  say  at  least  one  affectionate  word 
to  her  before  she  goes? 

THE  KING 

I  have  no  longer  either  affection  or  hate  for  her, 
I  ask  only  to  forget  this  woman,  I  blot  her  out  of 
my  life. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

My  love  is  like  the  tunic  of  Nessus :  one  can't  tear 
it  off  without  tearing  oneself. 

THE  KING 

[Shrugging  his  shoulders] 

Adieu,  Madam. 

[He  turns  his  back  on  her,  walks  mechani- 
cally to  the  little  table^  and  pours  out  a  glass 


The    Montespan          123 

of  wine.  MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN  looks  at 
him;  her  eyes  cannot  hide  their  flame. 
MARIE-AUBE  is  struck  by  it;  she  follows  her 
mother's  glance,  looks  at  the  KING,  the  glass 
he  holds,  then  back  at  MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
again.  She  opens  her  mouth,  takes  a  step 
toward  her  mother,  starts  to  speak,  then 
makes  up  her  mind  and  goes  rapidly  toward 
the  KING.] 

MARIE-AUBE 
Sire,  let  me  drink. 

THE  KING 

[Holding  out  his  glass  to  her} 

Take  it,  my  child. 

[MADAME  DE  MONTESPAN,  horror-struck, 
barely  restrains  a  cry;  she  hastily  approaches 
her  daughter  and  takes  her  by  the  hand. 
MARIE-AUBE  looks  at  her  without  speaking.} 

What  is  it? 

[MARIE-AUBE  puts  the  glass  to  her  lips. 
MME.  DE  MONTESPAN,  after  a  fraction  of 
hesitation,  drags  it  out  of  her  hand  and  drinks 
it  down  at  one  draught.} 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
No! 


124          The    Montespan 

MARIE-AUBE 

What  have  you  done*? — It  isn't  ...  it 
isn't  .  .  .  ? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Don't  fear.  I  saw  what  you  were  thinking. 
Poor  little  girl !  I  understand  you. 

MARIE-AUBE 
Oh!     Forgive  me!     Forgive  me! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
You  couldn't  bear  to  despise  me,  could  you*? 

MARIE-AUBE 
I  need  to  respect  you  to  keep  my  faith  in  you. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
Thank  you.     Don't  lose  it,  whatever  happens. 

THE  KING 
What  does  this  mean? 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

Everything  conspires  to  defeat  me.  God  is  strik- 
ing me.  Well,  I  am  glad.  It  means  I'm  saved ! 
I'm  emerging,  escaping  from  the  hellish  vortex! 


The    Montespan          125 

Oh !  God !  How  was  I  able  to  tear  myself  out 
of  its  grip?  I  need  to  feel  it  was  inevitable — in- 
evitable. If  it  weren't  already  done,  I  couldn't 
do  it  again. — It  is  done.  Nothing  in  the  world 
can  change  it  now.  I  almost  sacrificed  Aube,  too. 
Reason  couldn't  save  me.  Destiny  is  all,  and  I 
am  its  victim.  The  monsters  in  my  breast  are 
in  their  death-throes.  .  .  . 

MARIE-AUBE 

I  knew  it!  ...  Oh! 

[She  supports  her  mother,  weeping.^ 

THE  KING 
But  what  is  it? 

MARIE-AUBE 
Sire,  don't  you  see  that  she  is  dying? 

THE  KING 

Dying? — Good  God! — But  then,  this  glass,  this 
wine!  ...  It  was  /  she  wanted?  .  .  .  Christ!! 
You  have  saved  me! 

[He  kneels  down  on  his  praying-desk,  in 
front  of  the  picture  of  the  Crucifixion,  and 
prays  ardently.} 


126          The    Montespan 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Bitterly]     Look  at  him:  even  at  such  a  time,  he 
thinks  only  of  himself. 

MARIE-AUBE 
[Beside  herself]     Help!     Help! 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

/ 

Peace,  there  is  no  help. 

THE  KING 

[To    MARIE-AUBE]     Be    quiet,    unhappy    girl, 
don't  call! 

MARIE-AUBE 

[Desperately]     She's  dying.     Help!  .  .  . 

THE  KING 
Be  still !     I  want  it.     She  must  die. 

[SCENE  V.  The  doors  open,  and  people  of  the 
court,  curious  and  frightened,  enter,  stare, 
crowd  forward.] 

[MADAME   DE   MONTESPAN   is  lying  on  a 
couch,  in  the  arms  of  her  daughter.] 

THE  COURTIERS 

— What's  the  matter?  .  .  . 
—Is  the  King  ill?  ... 


The    Montespan          127 

— Some  one  screamed.  .  .  . 

— The  Marquise  has  fainted.  .  .  . 

— Call  Doctor  Fagon ! 

THE  KING 

[Very  calmly}  Madame  de  Montespan  is  not 
feeling  very  well.  Be  kind  enough  to  withdraw. 
Let  her  have  some  air. 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 
[To  her  'daughter,  at  whom  she  gazes  with 
passionate  tenderness} 
You  have  saved  me !  .  .  . 

[She  kisses  MARIE-AUBE'S  hand} 

MLLE.  DE  FONTANGES 

[Breaks  through  the  crowd  of  courtiers  as- 
sembled at  the  door,  and  rushes  in,  very 
much  moved} 
What  has  happened? — Oh!     Madam!  .  .  . 

MME.  DE  MONTESPAN 

[Raising  herself  up  and  looking  at  her,  full 
in  the  face} 

Insolent  Youth,  your  turn  will  come!  .  .  . 
[She  dies.} 

CURTAIN 


NOTICE 

The  historical  facts  are  widely  different  from 
those  which  I  here  present :  Mme.  de  Montespan 
far  from  dying  by  poison,  survived  twenty-seven 
years  the  scene  of  August  1680  with  the  King.  It 
was  on  the  contrary  Mile,  de  Fontanges  who  died 
in  1681  in  mysterious  and  sudden  fashion  where 
it  was  thought  to  recognize  the  criminal  hand  of 
her  rival.  Mile,  de  Blois  was  but  three  years 
old  in  1680;  and  if  Louvois  did  in  truth  defend 
Madame  de  Montespan  against  La  Reynie,  it  was 
Colbert  who  had  affianced  his  younger  daughter 
to  the  favorite's  nephew. 

These  are  rather  grave  liberties  to  take  with 
history.  I  wish  to  point  them  out  not  in  order 
to  excuse  myself,  but  to  show  doubtless,  that  I 
am  inexcusable.  I  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  imi- 
tate the  charming  carelessness  of  a  Schiller,  who 
took  a  certain  pride  in  affirming  his  independence 
in  the  face  of  history,  and  in  the  preface  to  his 
"Fiesco"  boasts  of  having  retained  merely  the 

name  ancl  mask  of  the  historical  character.     I 

128 


The    Montespan          129 

have  been  most  careful  on  the  contrary  to  hold  as 
faithfully  as  possible,  to  the  true  characteristics 
of  Mme.  de  Montespan,  the  King,  Louvois  and 
La  Reynie ;  but  I  have  not  thought  it  necessary  to 
restrict  myself  to  absolute  accuracy  when  this  was 
not  demanded  by  the  interior  logic  of  the  charac- 
ters; at  such  points  where  I  saw  in  the  traits  of 
my  model  the  outline  of  a  passion  or  an  action 
which  stops  en  route,  I  have  even  deliberately  set 
out  to  develop  it.  This  is  then  no  attempt  to 
write  a  chapter  of  history.  I  have  merely  tried, 
first  to  paint  the  soul  of  an  ambitious  woman  who 
feels  with  the  advent  of  age  her  power  slipping 
from  her,  and  then  to  portray  the  savage  explo- 
sion which  can  suddenly  burst  forth  in  the  heart 
of  one  of  the  most  reasonable  and  self-controlled 
forms  of  society  that  has  ever  existed.  In  order 
to  feel  quite  free  I  at  first  called  this  drama 
"Ambition"  and  the  principal  heroine  "Victoria 
Fieschi."  But  it  seemed  franker  to  give  the 
characters  their  true  names  and  thus  affirm  the 
rights  of  art  versus  history. 

There  are  two  orders  of  historic  fact:  those 
having  a  profoundly  human  significance  summing 
up  the  essence  of  a  nation  or  a  great  soul  which  is 
registered  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  on  the 


130 


other  hand,  those  accidental  and  transient  facts 
similar  to  the  variations  and  embellishments  ex- 
ecuted upon  the  principal  theme.  These  I  believe 
one  can  use  quite  freely  provided  one  does  not 
touch  the  theme;  these  I  believe  one  should  use 
freely  if  thereby  one  is  able  to  confer  to  the 
theme  its  just  value.  It  suffices  to  remain  true 
to  the  rhythm  of  the  characters  and  the  general 
tone  of  the  times. 

But  the  question  of  history  in  the  theatre  is 
too  important  for  me  to  think  of  dealing  with  it 
in  so  slight  a  work.  I  will  try  to  do  so  else- 
where. Be  it  enough  to  say  that  history  is  not  a 
book  where  everything  must  be  written  down  to 
the  very  last  word  and  of  which  art  must  servilely 
spell  each  syllable.  It  is  a  granary  of  immense 
forces,  Aeolus's  bag  inflated  with  the  passions  of 
all  humanity.  Let  art  unchain  them  if  it  can. 
Everything  that  adds  to  life  and  multiplies  its 
energies  is  good.  Let  us  nourish  ourselves  with 
the  passions  of  the  centuries.  Truth  is  life. 

R.  R. 


